Denial in E minor
by Ballerina Terminator
Summary: Cobb is out of the business, but for Ariadne, shared dreaming is hard to give up. The team from the Fischer job decides to stay together, but as Arthur and Ariadne's relationship begins to develop, it becomes apparent that someone's in denial...
1. Chapter 1 Poor Little Rich Girl

Chapter 1 - Poor Little Rich Girl

Ariadne was waiting for a taxi outside of LAX when she felt the brush against her fingers. It was with some surprise that she realized that a scrap of paper had been placed in her hand, and she turned just in time to see Eames give her a discreet wink as he passed behind her. She had the presence of mind to wait until she was in her taxi before she glanced down at the thin strip.

_Everyone for drinks at 7:00p Room 314. _This announcement was followed by the name and address of a hotel. Ariadne was immensely pleased by the invitation. She understood the need to continue out of the airport as though she had been travelling alone, but the act of pretending to be alone when she wasn't was depressing. She also didn't want to spend the entire day before her next flight alone in a city with which she was unfamiliar; the prospect had been gloomy, and so it was with great relief that she thought about seeing her companions again later that evening. She doubted, of course, that Dom would be there, even if Eames had bothered to invite him, but she was pleased to be seeing the rest of the team.

At the thought of seeing Arthur, she found herself blushing and then got angry with herself for doing so. She would not, under any circumstances, act like a lovesick teenager ready to read the greatest significance into any occurrence. She was especially not going to bring up the event. He initiated the kiss, although 'stole' seemed a more appropriate description, and it was entirely his responsibility to broach the topic if he chose. If it had been more than a momentary flirtation, a small distraction during the stress of the turbulent episode that was the inception of Robert Fischer, then it was for him to say.

Until then, she would put it firmly out of mind.

Okay, so she would try not to think about it too often.

Or, she could at least not let him know that she thought about it. That, at least, was manageable.

She hoped.

Arthur got his invitation to Eames's little get together when he reached into the pocket of his slacks for a tip for the bellboy. Along with the pair of tens that he pulled out came the little slip that bore Eames's scrawled note. He handed one of the bills to the man setting down his bags, and when the door had closed he glanced at the paper. Although he was considerably more used to solitary travel than Ariadne, he was not one to scorn good company when available. In fact, he found himself looking forward to that evening with more interest than he would have guessed. He had gone once to grab drinks with Eames and an Architect named Ma after a job they had done over a year before, but he hadn't stayed long.

Yet, he found himself looking forward to that evening with enthusiasm. He told himself that it was just a holdover from the excitement of completing an impossible job even after everything that could go wrong did, but he was perfectly willing to admit that he was anxious to see Ariadne again before she left to go back to Paris. He wanted very much to make sure that she was handling the aftermath of her first job without any problems. The emotionally empathetic could take this kind of experience hard, and it didn't take a great mind to realize that she had spent much of the job watching over Dom as though she were a parent that knew her small child was determined to do something he ought not. Arthur had known things were getting bad for Cobb, but he suspected that Ariadne had discovered exactly how bad it had gotten.

Arthur ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it somewhat disheveled, and sighed with exhaustion. It was rare to come out of a dream feeling as though you had been run ragged, but he felt it now. After putting his things down and setting an alarm on his phone, he kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed. Five minutes later, he was asleep.

That evening, when Ariadne walked into Eames's hotel suite, she discovered that she had been preceded only by Yusuf. After Ariadne declined Eames's offer of a drink she sat down next to Yusuf on the edge of the bed. He raised his glass to her in greeting.

"How are you feeling?" the chemist asked.

"I feel a little keyed up," she admitted, sliding to the middle of the bed and crossing her legs under her. "Everything seems so surreal, and I keep expecting everyone around me to turn and stare at me, or worse, start shooting at me."

"Don't worry, that will fade pretty quickly. You just need to relax and keep a hold of your totem. You will feel better soon.

"Which is exactly what we are doing here," Eames declared, leaning against the wall. When a knock at the door made Ariadne start, he gave her a sly grin. "Are you sure you don't want a drink, love?" he asked her as he opened the door.

Arthur walked in with a nod to Eames and had just accepted a drink when the there was another knock, and after glancing through the peep-hole, he opened the door to Saito.

"Our illustrious tourist, without whom we could not have managed," Eames said jovially. "I'm glad that you decided to join us."

Saito gave a solemn nod, but the corners of his mouth could be seen creeping up in a small smile.

"I appreciate the invitation," he said quietly. "Although I cannot stay long, as my flight leaves tonight, I wished to speak with you. Your agreed upon payment has been transferred to your respective accounts, and I wish to extend my personal thanks to each of you."

"I'm sorry," Ariadne interrupted, "I know that it is impolite to speak about payment at a social event, but I really don't know what the 'agreed upon' amount is."

Eames turned to Arthur. "You didn't tell her?" he asked incredulously.

"I thought Cobb told her!"

"Cobb was a bit distracted," she said, not without amusement.

Arthur told her the figure, and the amusement disappeared.

"Pardon?"

Eames repeated the number.

The disbelieving expression didn't alter. "You aren't being serious," she decided. "You are teasing me."

"Not a bit," Eames said. "I never joke about money, and I don't think Arthur has a sense of humor." Arthur rolled his eyes at the jibe.

"And how exactly does this compare to how other jobs may pay?" she asked intently.

"Oh, it's rather more than a normal job, considering the magnitude of our task, but you could still expect a considerable portion of that for your typical extraction," Eames said.

"What kind of portion, exactly?" she asked eagerly. The men in the room began to look the tiny Architect's abruptly mercenary attitude with raised eyebrows.

"Forgive the impertinence, love, but you didn't initially strike me as being one to be so deeply interested in money," Eames said hesitantly, but with ill-concealed delight.

"You would be too if you had lived in a cold-water flat for the last two years," she said defensively. "And you have just informed me that I will never again have to worry about how much I can spend on food ever again! Up until now, I didn't have two pennies to rub together, and now, I have more money than I know what to do with. When I get home, I'm going shopping for food, and then, I'm going shopping for a new home." The look on her face was positively euphoric.

"Are you telling us that during this entire job for which we have received the income of a small nation, you have been scraping by for groceries?" Yusuf asked, looking half amused.

"Yes!" she cried, unable to understand where the confusion was. "And groceries haven't even been the worst of my problems! I'm a month behind on my rent! Actually, I kind of thought that was why Professor Miles suggested me when he told me that there was someone with a job offer. Only a couple of months ago, I spoke to him about possible employment opportunities while I continued to work on my degree. I didn't expect him to hand me a job that would make the degree unnecessary!"

Eames laughed and ruffled her hair. "Well, it seems you are a regular rags-to-riches story. Well, I am pleased to inform you that, as good as you are, and you are exceedingly good, you can expect about a quarter of this payment, give or take, for each job. I'm not sure how many jobs you might get a year – it can be unpredictable- but I can say that I want you to be the Architect for any job that I am on from here on out. A little more experience, and you could easily be the best. Come on, Arthur, back me up on this."

"I'd be lying if I said it wasn't true."

"See? I'd even continue to work with Arthur here if I had to."

Ariadne absolutely beamed with pride. "I'd like to keep working with you all if I could. Could that work?"

"Sure," Arthur said. "Many in the business work in more permanent teams."

"It's better to work with people you know. You want to be careful who you work with in this line of work. Don't get me wrong; I'm not claiming to be the most trustworthy person you could come across, but there are plenty of people that I would not like to see you fall in with. Speaking of nasty people to fall in with, last I heard you had been working with Nash as your Architect. Whatever happened to the slimy little cockroach?"

Arthur's relaxed expression tensed, and his eyes flickered to Saito. It was the Japanese businessman who answered.

"I found him to be an untrustworthy individual, and when it came to skill, he was rather second rate."

"Too true," Eames said, turning back to Ariadne. "Don't worry. You stick with Arthur. He's very honorable and won't let you get mixed up with that kind of riff-raff."

"Will we need to find a new extractor?" she asked.

"Not necessarily," Arthur said. "In return for Eames's kind complement to my character, I can say that as well as being one of the best forger's around, he is a rather impressive extractor in his own right."

"Thank you, Arthur."

"I just want to make sure that you are certain that you want to keep working in extraction. The money is very good, but you've seen only a part of how dangerous it can get. Have you really thought this through?"

She looked at him as though he had lost his mind.

"Are you kidding? I'll be the first to admit that it was scary, but that was still the most exciting experience in my life! This is the most amazing thing to ever happen to me. Please, you can't ask me to stop now." The concern in her voice was palpable.

Arthur shook his head. "No, I don't want to make you stop if you don't want to; I just wanted you to be sure. I also wanted you to be sure that you understand that if there is any point that you want to get out, you can. You should understand that you are under no obligation to anyone but yourself when you do this. It is, for the most part, on the wrong side of the law, and you are not to do things or take risks that you are not comfortable with."

"See, what did I tell you?" Eames said with a despairing sigh. "Honorable to a fault."

"No, I appreciate it," she was quick to assure Arthur. "I don't want you to think that I'm not grateful for your concern. It's just that it's all so…" She tried to relate to him with a gesture of splayed fingers the sense of overwhelming wonder that dreaming and extraction had given her.

He smiled and nodded, understanding her feelings on the matter completely. "Pure creation."

Ariadne returned the smile and asked, "What do we do now?"

"I, for one, will be begging your pardon, for I do need to leave for the airport," Saito said. "I wish you all the best. It was an honor to work with you all, and I sincerely hope to see you again in the future." He offered a hand to Arthur. Arthur took it, and then Saito shook hands with the other two men. Finally, he came to Ariadne, and when she took his hand he bowed over it formally. "Miss Gray, I look forward to hearing of your career with great interest. Please accept my thanks for all that you have done for me, and please consider me a friend at any time you should need one."

"Thank you," Ariadne murmured, blushing, but still pleased.

After a moment of silence following Saito's exit, she spoke again.

"Really, though, what do we do now?" she asked again. "How does one go about getting hired for this? I assume we're not advertising in the London Times."

"Well, first of all, you could use a little more training, and some time to get some practice in," Arthur said. "Your tuition for your first job was somewhat hurried due to our uncertain time constraints, and I didn't know that we were taking you under with us until just before we left. If I had known earlier, I would have taught you quite a bit more, which I intend to do now. As an Architect, you generally won't need to go into the dreams during an extraction, but that doesn't mean that you won't be called upon to at some time or another."

"I'd like to, if I get the chance."

"We'll have to see what comes up. That's another thing. We tend to be contacted for jobs through the grapevine, so to speak. Whoever is looking to hire an extractor or an extraction team will talk to someone who knows someone who knows an extraction team."

"Like me," Yusuf said. "I would be pleased to shuffle work your way if I hear of anything that might interest the group, and, if you ever need a chemist for anything, don't hesitate to call. Also, I am not a bad field medic, but you need a driver though, I prefer you see if there is someone else you can call first."

"But before anything else, go home, or better yet, go buy a new home; this can be complicated, so if you need help buying a place, call me," Arthur said. Here, Eames raised an eyebrow, but he didn't interrupt. "Pay off all debts, and then buy yourself all the pretty little things that you've always wanted but haven't been able to afford. Take a good month or so to unwind. You deserve it. And then, we'll get together, and we'll get back to work."

That had been nearly a month and a half ago, and Ariadne had just as Arthur had told her to. She had gone shopping for a new apartment, and when she had found one that she had fallen in love with, a top floor apartment with the original art deco style that made her feel as though she had just stepped into the 1920's, she called him, and, a week later, he was standing at her shoulder when Ariadne signed her name to the documents that made the comfortable little living space hers.

She registered for only a single class for the fall semester, one taught by Professor Miles, who had taken the news of her calling into the world of extraction with unconcealed concern, but she did her best to reassure him. Before the semester had even begun, she had begun to take tea with him Thursdays, and despite his worries for her, he had conceded that he knew Arthur to be a principled young man, despite his vocation, and if she were to go into extraction, he was pleased that it would be with someone who he thought could be trusted to keep her from the most questionable jobs. Phillip Eames he was less sanguine about, but he was willing to concede that he would not be likely to willfully lead her into danger. Dom, she was pleased to hear from him, was doing well, and despite the corruption of his best and brightest, Stephen Miles was glad to know that his grandchildren had their father back.

Now, on the Tuesday of the week after classes had started, Ariadne was sitting in the lecture hall, listening to Professor Miles teach, when extraction walked back into her life.


	2. Chapter 2 Again, From the Top

**Author's Note: Okay, not all updates will be nearly so prompt, but I have already written a great deal of this story… just not in order. I know it's a horrid habit, this not writing in order, but the advantage for you is that I am filling in the gaps and uploading as I go along, and I very clearly know where this is going to end up. Some gaps are much, MUCH larger than others, but I've been writing this since early August so I hope to keep updating at least once a week, classes permitting.**

**All my love, **

**-Ballerina Terminator**

**P.S. Sorry about uploading the first chapter twice. It was very lame of me. Thanks to those who called my attention to it!**

Chapter Two: Again, From the Top

When Arthur opened the door to the classroom, the hinges gave a soft moan. As he sank down into an empty seat in the back row, Arthur saw Professor Miles glance up at him with barely a pause in his lecture, and then the professor's eyes shifted momentarily to the other side of the classroom. Arthur followed his gaze and saw Ariadne sitting next to the opposite wall, about half way down the classroom auditorium.

She sat on the chair with her left foot propped up on the edge of the seat and her knee pulled to her chest. She was bent over her notebook, taking down the notes from the power-point slide that was projected onto the board at the head of the classroom, but she also had a broad grin on her face that Arthur could clearly see from where he sat. He soon had the satisfaction of feeling himself to be cause of the smile when she glanced back at him and caught his eye for just a moment before going back to her notes.

Arthur kept his expression unchanged, but if he were inclined to be honest with himself, her obvious joy at his appearance, pleased him greatly. If, after two months off the job, she was still intent to carry on with professional dreaming, her enthusiasm was not the product of the relief and adrenaline that came with the aftermath of her first job. The look of unease on Professor Miles's face made him feel slightly guilty, although he found that small twinge of guilt unexpectedly easy to forget as when he looked back at Ariadne, who had transferred her gaze to the clock, looking as though she were trying to will the hands to move faster.

When Miles finally dismissed the class, she abandoned her things and weaved her way though her classmates to reach him. He was a little taken aback when upon reaching him she went up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. After a slight hesitation, he returned her hug.

"I did not expect to you at all, but I am so glad to see you. How have you been?"

He eased his hold from around her waist, and she sank back down to her flat-footed height. "Not too bad. And you?"

"I have been designing mazes almost constantly for the past two or three weeks. It has become difficult not to," she admitted, but not without pride. Ariadne turned briefly and smiled at a classmate who called out a farewell to her from the steady stream of students that were exiting the room, and she called back her own goodbye before turning back to Arthur.

"I must say hello to Miles before we go," he told her. "I'll go down while you get your things." She traipsed back to where she had abandoned her things and began to pack while Arthur, feeling as though he were going to face the music for his part in introducing the young woman to a path of which her mentor did not approve.

He need not have worried. The professor shook his hand cordially and asked if he could spare a few moments to chat.

"I'm afraid not; I told Eames that I would pick him up from the airport. I only came for Ariadne." He turned to look at her as she approached the front of her classroom with her bag slung over her shoulder.

"Ah, I see. Give Mr. Eames my best, and Ariadne, I hope to see you for tea on Thursday. You are also invited, Mr. Hamilton. Have a pleasant afternoon, my dear." Ariadne thanked him and took the proffered arm that Arthur held out to her as they ascended the stairs to the exit.

Some hours later, after meeting Eames at the airport and having a late lunch, the extraction team sat in Arthur's hotel room, Eames reclined on one of the beds while Arthur carefully explained the parts and purposes of the PASIV machine while he sanitized and ran a quick check on it.

"Some of this you know already," he said, "but you ought to be able to run it and take care of it yourself. There is a fair chance that as an Architect, if you do not go into a dream, you may be needed to take care of the PASIV and watch over the dreamers. Also, you should know how to fix it if something goes wrong." Once satisfied that she was better versed in the set up of the machine, he placed the device on the table that he had moved in between the two beds.

"Time to go." Ariadne climbed onto the bed that was unoccupied by Eames, and Arthur handed each a lead. Ariadne moved to the far side of the bed she had taken to leave room for Arthur where he could reach the device before she swabbed her arm with the alcohol pad she had been given and inserted the IV into her arm. She turned to watch Arthur lay down next to her and do the same.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Good, we're going under for quite a while." He reached over and pressed the activation trigger. Ariadne felt the warm wave of Somnacin-induced sleep wash over her.

Ariadne immediately recognized her surroundings as that of a shooting range. Cold cement walls incased the gymnasium sized room, and down on the opposite end were targets. Just in front of her was a counter with five guns laying on it in ascending order of size. Arthur stepped up beside her to her right and Eames to her left.

"The first thing you're going to learn is how to shoot a gun," he said. "Have you ever shot a gun before?"

"Once, several years ago. My grandmother, she and her brother were in the resistance, and he gave her a pistol to protect herself with. She says that she thought that he killed a Nazi and took it from him, but he would never say. She taught me how to shoot it."

"Wow, that's some grandmother," Eames said.

"Yes, she was," Ariadne said with feeling.

Arthur walked over to the counter and picked up the pistol and handed it to her. "Show me."

Ariadne took the gun from him, slid off the safety, stepped up, and shot three rounds at the target directly in front of her. Two of the three shots hit the target. She looked back at him expectantly. He nodded in approval.

"Not bad," he said. "Certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Hold up the gun again." She did as he said, and he came up next to her and made slight adjustments to her stance. Ariadne inhaled sharply at the unexpected close contact, but she suppressed any other outward signs of discomposure.

"Again," he said, and again, she fired off three rounds. "Very good. Let's practice a little more with this, and then we're going to start changing things up."

First, it was the different guns. After the pistol came the rifle and then the P90, and so on. Arthur and Eames taught her how to hold them and how to shoot them, standing, kneeling, and on the ground. After they covered the basics of each, they started on target practice. For what seemed like hours upon hours, Ariadne shot holes in to the various targets at various distances, switching guns at regular intervals. After a while she began to ache, but eager to please and hoping to impress, she pushed on.

Finally, after emptying a magazine, Arthur placed his hand over hers as she reached for the next firearm.

"Take a break," he told her. "We're nearly out of time, and you look like you need a rest."

"I'm good," she insisted. Eames shook his head.

"You're arms are shaking," Eames pointed out. "And your aim has been not as good as it was an hour ago. You're doing fine. You don't have to become a marine; you're still the Architect. Ideally, we can leave most of the necessary shooting to Arthur. We just want to make sure if you need to, you can take care of yourself. Don't worry, we're hardly done for today."

Ariadne stretched an arm behind her head before switching to the other one and then shaking out her wrists. Arthur glanced down at his wristwatch.

"Time to wake up."

Ariadne woke up with a ghost of the aches she had felt in the dream. She began to massage her arms before she even opened her eyes.

"It'll fade in a few minutes," Arthur's voice said. She opened her eyes and saw that he had propped himself up on his elbows and was looking down at her. He sat up, and taking her arm, removed the IV from her wrist and pressed down a piece of gauze that he had taken from the table onto the tiny puncture wound.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Don't mention it," he said, returning her arm to her and up the leads. He began to remove the used needles. "We're going to order room service. It's time for a snack. The menu is on the table; go pick something out."

An hour later, they were back in the dream, and again with the firearm training. This time they had her shooting projections, first in a cityscape, then moving to a forested area, and finally an open field. This was more complicated for she would occasionally get gunned down, and each time she did, she woke up. She started out being somewhat upset each time she woke up from her own dying, but after a short break, they would go again. After the first few times, she began to take her violent deaths with increasingly better spirits. The one time she had been badly wounded and gasping in pain and she had seen Eames, who had been closest to at the time, turn his gun on her and shoot her in the head, she woke up in a state of absolute panic, and after she had calmed down there was a good hour's worth of break before they began again.

Around seven in the evening, after their final round with the projections, Arthur spoke to Ariadne.

"I'm going to take you under for one more thing. Eames if you would put ten on the clock for us?"

Ariadne found herself walking up a staircase that she found very familiar. She glanced up to then next landing and saw Arthur waiting for her. She gained the landing, and he joined her as she continued up.

"My first paradoxical architecture," she said, pleased at the unexpected return to the first lesson he had given her in dreaming.

"Yes, you certainly took this lesson to heart. It was a nice staircase you designed for me for the Fischer job. It came in handy too."

"Did it? I'm glad. I bought two books on optical illusions just the other day. I hope to get ideas."

"I'm interested in seeing what you come up with," he said with a small smile that did not reach his voice. Ariadne waited for him to continue, but for a few minutes he seemed content to climb the endless staircase with her in silence. Ariadne frowned, and glanced around nervously. He stopped her at the next landing, one that they had past several times. They looked out into open space where the next flight should have connected.

"Arthur," she asked hesitantly. "What are we doing here?" Arthur handed her a small gun.

"Wake yourself up," he said simply. Ariadne looked up at the Point Man in confusion.

"What?"

"Wake up, or we will spend another three hours just standing here." She looked at the gun in her hand and shifted uncomfortably at the thought of pointing it at herself.

"You know this is just a dream, yes?" he asked her. "We're standing on a flight of Penrose steps that we've just circled three times before we saw the paradox. Where is your totem?"

She pulled her totem out of her pocket and held it up. She could tell immediately that there was something wrong with it. It didn't feel right at all.

"You can tell, can't you, that it isn't yours. That's because I created it since I am the dreamer. I have no idea how it feels to you so what I create can only be my best guess of what that is. So, you know that this is a dream," he said firmly, "so wake yourself up."

Ariadne nodded and slowly lifted the gun to her head. After a moment, she brought her arm back down and slid the safety on for good measure.

"I don't know if I can. I'm sorry, but I really think that I can't." She looked up at him, expecting to get an expression of disappointment, but he was looking down at her with a soft smile. He took the gun from her hands and slipped it into his pocket.

"Don't worry about it. I didn't really expect you to, and, to tell you the truth, I'm rather glad you didn't." He sat down at the edge of the staircase where it opened up into space and motioned for her to sit next to him, which she did, dangling her feet over the edge. "In fact, I'd have been not just a little worried about you if you had managed it. It's not a healthy inclination to harm yourself or kill yourself, even if you know there won't be any negative consequences. The mind revolts, even to experienced dreamers. The only time most people can really manage it is when the consequences of not waking up are worse than waiting it out, but you need to understand that there may come a time when you might have to wake yourself up before the timer runs out."

"Like when I jumped in limbo to make the kick. I was so scared that I would miss it I didn't even let myself think about what I was doing. Waking up underwater distracted me for a while. But it wasn't long until I found myself horrified at the thought that I had thrown myself of a hundred-story building."

"The thought of not waking up scared you more than falling did."

"You better believe it."

"You think you consider something else for me?"

"What?"

"Could you wake me up?"

"_What_?"

"There may come a time when you may be called on to take out a teammate in a dream, and I do need to know that you can do that."

"But that's… that's horrible!" she cried.

"Not necessarily. If someone is hurt badly, or, as can sometimes happen, about to be taken to pieces by projections, it can be the kindest thing that you can do for them."

"Won't it be just as bad as trying to kill myself?"

"Considerably easier, actually. You still know that this is not real, and in this you will not have to fight your self-preservation instinct. Also, it gets easier after a while. You are more able to associate it with the act of waking someone up rather than killing them."

"But I don't want to hurt you," she said plaintively.

"Don't think about it like that. Think of it like you're helping them. Don't worry," he said reassuringly. "I won't ask you to do it now, but there could be a time when you'll need to sometime even during your training."

She nodded uncomfortably, and he gave her a sly smile.

"Think of it like getting vaccinated. You don't like getting the shots, but it is better when you get one."

"I suppose that's fair. So are we just going to sit here for the next few hours?"

"Nah, Eames should give us a kick in a little bit." He checked his watch. "In fact, it really out to be any sec…"

He didn't even get a chance to finish the sentence before Ariadne felt the world lurch sideways.

Ariadne awoke landing on top of Arthur with a thud that knocked the wind out of them both. The shock of the winding startled her so that it took her a moment to come to realize that she was lying on top of him in a tangle of IV leads. After nearly tearing the IV from her arm, she scrambled off of him, apologizing profusely. Arthur however ignored her and glared up at Eames who was setting back down the comforter that he had lifted up to slid them off the edge of the bed.

"You couldn't think of a nicer way to give us a kick?" he demanded.

"I put the pillows down," Eames said dismissively.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked Ariadne, helping her off the floor.

"I'm fine," she insisted, still flushed with embarrassment. "I'm really sorry."

"Don't be. No harm done, and it's his fault anyway."

"Are you two going to stand there all day? Come on, it's time for dinner."


	3. Chapter 3 Educational Velocity

**Author's Note: Salutations once again, dear readers! It is with great pride and a bit of nervousness that I present to you Chapter Three! I very much hope you enjoy it. Also, it has come to my attention that I failed to add a disclaimer thus far, so stay tuned for that bit of excitement. If you are feeling so inclined to review, mention favorite and least favorite parts and things that you are hoping to see so that I can fine tune future chapters for greater reader enjoyment. Help me give you more of what you want. And now, without further ado... the disclaimer. **

**Disclaimer: Inception was created by Christopher Nolan. It belongs to him. I own none of it. Not even a little bit.**

**Love,**

**Ballerina Terminator  
**

Chapter Three: Educational Velocity

When Arthur dropped her off at her apartment building later that evening, Ariadne opened the door to apartment to find her roommate waiting for her. Ariadne could tell immediately that Marie-Claude was not happy with her.

"And where have you been all evening without answering your phone?" she asked darkly, her French accent more pronounced that usual. Ariadne suddenly remembered her cell phone sitting in a side pouch of her backpack still set on silent for her class, and the arrangements that she had made to go to the store with her friend.

"_Merde_!" Ariadne exclaimed. "Oh, I am so sorry. I had a couple of friends surprise me by coming into town today, and I completely forgot, and I forgot to turn my ringer back on after class."

"Well, that is nothing new. Who are these friends of yours?"

"Well, you know that bit of work I did at the beginning of the summer? It was two of the men that I worked with. They're in town for the week – Professor Miles is an old friend of theirs – and they stopped in to see me as well," Ariadne explained, making an effort to keep from deviating from what was strictly true.

Marie-Claude seemed to accept both the story and the apology with good grace. Ariadne didn't want to lie to her friend, especially after the major falsehood that she had told her about their sudden increase in wealth.

Marie-Claude had been her friend since childhood, and although Ariadne was the older of the two by nearly a year, she always had the impression that Marie-Claude was treating her as the one more in need of looking after. They had spent the last two years living together, pooling their resources in order to scrape by, in a shoebox of an apartment that was less than 300 square feet all the way around. So, when Ariadne came home from an unexpected trip to the United States early that summer and announced that a childless great-aunt on her paternal side who had no love for her nephew, Ariadne's father, had left the entirety of her not inconsiderable wealth to her nephew's daughter, and when Ariadne had had declared her intention of buying a new place to live for them both, Marie-Claude was just as overjoyed as her friend was hoped she would be and had failed to ask too many questions about the matter. It had helped that, knowing her friend's background as she did, Marie-Claude knew that Ariadne preferred not to speak about her father and didn't wish to push the matter.

For the first evening after her return, they had spent a good hour looking upon Ariadne's bank account balance with awe.

"_Mon Dieu! Regardez tous les jolis zeros!_" Marie-Claude had exclaimed.

"I know," Ariadne had replied, her voice filled with wonder, as she stared at the online bank account statement.

"What will you do with it all?"

"Whatever we can think of."

When Ariadne insisted that her friend need not contribute any payments to the new home, Marie-Claude chafed at first, but two years of poverty had considerably moderated her pride. When Ariadne continued to insist, pointing out that she would be buying the place whether or not she had a roommate and that it made her very uncomfortable to live alone, Marie-Claude relented and, eventually, even agreed to help her friend spend some of the money.

After the acquisition of the apartment and after half of the remaining funds were placed in a high interest account only to be touched under the most desperate of circumstances, they spent a week in Venice. Shopping for food went from being a study in self-denial to a culinary adventure. An anonymous donation was made to their church's fund for the poor. They returned to ballet classes that had formerly been sacrificed to the budget, and furnishing the apartment was still a delicate and ongoing process; each piece being considered carefully before purchase.

It had been a charmed life, but Marie-Claude had not failed to notice the other changes. A gold-colored chess piece had become Ariadne's constant companion, and occasionally, when Ariadne thought no one was looking, she would take it out and fiddle with it for a moment before putting it away again, tucked into a pocket. Ariadne had always sketched incessantly, but more and more, Marie-Claude saw mazes and impossible structures in the drawings scattered around the apartment. She didn't know why these seemingly insignificant things preyed on her mind so, but they did which was why Ariadne's absence that evening had bothered her more than she knew that is should have.

"We can go tomorrow, can't we?" Ariadne asked. Marie-Claude shook her head.

"I am going to see my aunt tomorrow, and I won't be back until Sunday night," she explained. "She broke her arm this morning, and she is needing a great deal of help."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Ariadne exclaimed. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You could come with me if you wanted. You wouldn't have to help or anything, but I don't like to leave you here alone."

"No, I'm afraid I can't, not with my friends in town, and my first assignment is due on Thursday."

Marie-Claude nodded, not surprised by the answer. "I must go to bed. I have to be up early. Promise to call me when you get in every evening while I am out?"

Ariadne's eyebrows rose in surprise. "_Oui, Mama, et moi promettent de ne pas parler aux étrangers._" Marie-Claude looked embarrassed.

"_Je suis désolé_. I did not mean to be a pecking hen. Just be careful. I don't like that I am the only person that sees you every day. What if something were to happen and I am not here?"

"Don't fret. I'll call," Ariadne laughed. "Go get some rest. I have a lot of work to for my Thursday assignment."

Ariadne didn't sleep that night, but to be fair, she didn't try. She had spent the entire second half of her day on a soft bed even if she had been mentally active the entire time, and besides, her head was still buzzing with all of the dreams she had worked in that day. After finishing her assignment a little before three o'clock in the morning, she made herself a bowl of pasta. She sat down at her kitchen table with her food and spread out all of the sketches she had done in the last couple of weeks, wondering if any would be worth showing off.

Around four, after she had finished her late-night snack and had cleaned the kitchen which had been in desperate need of such attentions, she began to work on some of her sketches. At five-thirty, she heard Marie-Claude's alarm clock go off, and she gathered up the drawings, put them in her bedroom, and began to make coffee and cinnamon rolls.

"Mmm. Blessed are the coffee-makers for theirs is the appreciation of the roommate," Marie-Claude declared as she stumbled out of her room while buttoning up her shirt. "Did you make breakfast just for me?"

"Well, I'm eating too, but I am very sorry about yesterday."

"I forgive you."

" _Merci_."

Marie-Claude gave a wave of the hand to indicate that she could be magnanimous, before dropping two rolls into a tupperware container and filling a travel mug with coffee. "Be sure to call me. _Au revoir_!"

Ariadne called back her farewell just as her friend traipsed out the door.

When Ariadne got to the hotel where Arthur and Eames were staying at half past eight, they were up and waiting for her. Not long after Marie-Claude had left the apartment sleep deprivation had finally caught up with Ariadne, and she was ready to doze off. Instead, she had gotten her things together, picked out a few of what she felt were her best plans and sketches, and walked all the way to the hotel. The cool morning air had helped to refresh her, but when she sat down on the bed, she flopped back with relief, and sighed at the joy of a soft bed.

"Did we have a hard time waking up this morning?" Eames teased.

"We didn't go to sleep last night. There was too much to do."

"What on earth constituted you not getting any sleep?" Arthur asked.

"To begin with, I have an assignment for Professor Miles due tomorrow, and I think we'll be somewhat busy today. Secondly, I wanted to work on these." She pulled out the drawings that she had been working on and handed them to Arthur. "I've been practicing, and I wanted to know if there was anything that needed work or if there is anything that might be wrong."

Eames took each page as Arthur finished looking at it. "Liar!" Eames declared. "You just brought these so you could be praised for how good you are." Arthur gave a small chuckle.

"I'm not saying I won't accept praise, but I'd like to know if they're really worth it," she said.

"Oh, they're worth it," Arthur said, still glancing over the last page. "Has Miles seen these?"

"I never show him the mazes. I'm afraid that it might upset him."

Arthur didn't answer, but put the last page on the table where Eames could reach it when he was ready for it.

"I'd like to see a couple of those when we go under today," he said. "But first, we're going to teach you to drive."

"I know how to drive."

"Not like this, you don't. Take a lead. Eames, join us whenever you're ready."

Eames, still examining some of the pages, mumbled his agreement but didn't look up.

"Do you know how to drive standard?" Arthur asked as he sat down on the bed next to her and handed her a lead. She shook her head.

"Well, we'll start with that."

Learning to drive took up Ariadne's morning. Driving was potentially an important part of getting through a city-scale maze, as Arthur explained, and Ariadne had not realized how much she hadn't known about driving.

After learning how to drive a stick shift out on the open driving coarse, Arthur began her on defensive driving maneuvers. There was considerable effort involved in using a vehicle as a weapon, and she woke up from that lesson feeling like her teeth were still rattling and her ears were still ringing. By the end of the driving sessions, Ariadne had come to the firm decision that while she loved driving as fast as she could, but she did not enjoy driving violently. It took most of the midday break to get rid of the ache in her arms and legs. It was with great relief with which Ariadne moved onto lessons that would leave her feeling less punch drunk.

When Ariadne looked around the newest dream, she found herself in the middle of a sunlit café sitting at a table with Arthur and Eames.

"What are we going to do here?"

"Something a little more peaceful than what we've worked on so far. We're going to give you a chance to try to actually talk to the projections rather than going straight to shooting them. It is one way to find out things about your subject."

"Cobb mentioned something about that, I think, the first time he took me under."

"Well, he may have mentioned that you can get some information out of projections, but you must remember that what you hear can be somewhat warped."

"How so?"

"Well it's your subconscious, right? It has all the automatic assumptions that you make, the prejudices that you don't know you have or do know you have but try to fight, or feelings that you have about people you know. But all of these things come without of the filter of your conscious mind. It can sometimes be surprising and can sometimes be unflattering, but you have to remember that you are not necessarily getting a fair view of their personality."

"What do you mean?"

Arthur thought for a minute before answering.

"Okay, let's say that you are in the subconscious of a man that had grown up in the Deep South during the fifties. You may, and probably will, run into projections that you find rather racist, even if those are things that the subject doesn't really believe. What are you seeing could be the remnants of an upbringing that he consciously knows to be wrong."

"Is this a real person?" she asked shrewdly.

"I taught him subconscious security a few years ago. His wife was black, and he married her before Loving vs. Virginia went to the Supreme Court, so you can see how you cannot always make assumptions about people by what their projections say or do."

Ariadne nodded.

"Now, we are in Eames's subconscious. Do you want to want to give it a shot? Pick someone to chat with."

Ariadne glanced around the café, stood up and walked over to a projection of stern looking old man in a bowler hat, sitting alone at a table next to window. She sat down across from him, and began a conversation. It didn't last long, and after a few minutes, she strode back over to the table where the two gentlemen were waiting for her, dropped back down into her chair, and fixed Eames with a wicked grin.

"Eames, sweetheart, exactly how old did you think I was when you first met me?"

Eames laughed, but looked slightly uncomfortable. "What did he say?"

"He wanted to know what Cobb was doing recruiting Architects out of a nursery."

"And that was the crotchety old man part of my personality, but in my defense, darling, you are a tiny little woman."

She giggled and gave his arm a pat. "You know, now that you mention it, I was looking at myself in the mirror this morning, and I thought, damn, I'm short and kinda scrawny, and could even be mistaken for a child on occasion. Come on, Eames, you are hardly the first person to look at me and mistake me for being younger than I am. Don't sweat it."

"So you'll just going to let that go, are you, Princess?"

"Over my dead body, dear, and let's forgo the 'Princess', please."

"Oh? We could go with 'Duchess' if you like."

"Only if you have a death wish."

"Sleeping Beauty?"

"Fine, I won't tease you about the nursery thing," Ariadne said with disgust.

"Oh, I think I've found a winner," Eames said with relish. "It's got a kind of poetic ring."

"You do have a death wish," Ariadne muttered under her breath. She glanced at Arthur who wasn't even trying not to laugh. Ariadne sighed and slumped back into her chair and rolled her eyes.

"You do any better? How old did you think I was?"

"I already knew your age. Cobb told me before you came."

"Cheat."

Arthur gave her a smile that showed no shame.

After a handful of other conversations, Ariadne gleaned relatively little about Eames other than a preference for blondes. After that, Eames looked very relieved to hear that that their time in the dream was running out.

"Next time, we use Arthur's subconscious," Eames insisted. "I get the feeling that I was not endearing myself there."

"Are you suggesting that I might hold anything that I ever learn about you while dreaming against you?" Ariadne asked sweetly, as she sat up and took the IV from her arm and handed it to Arthur.

"Ready for a break?" he asked as he took the lead from her.

"Just for a few minutes," she replied as she pulled down the edge of the bed covers and crawled under them. "Right now, I'd just like to warm up a bit," she said, pulling the covers around her tightly.

"Are you really that cold?"

"Freezing. It may just be from laying still all day."

"No, it's gotten cold in here," Eames said, pulling shut an open window.

"I'll tell you what," Arthur said. "We'll relax for a little while, maybe an hour or so, and if you're up to it, we can go through a couple of the dreams that you've designed; I'd really like to see them. Then we'll call it a day and go out for dinner. You've done a lot of work in a very short period of time, and you've done really well."

"Sounds like a plan worth pursuing," she agreed. "And dinner will be my treat."


	4. Chapter 4 Fever Dreams

**Well, my darling readers, here we go again. Thanks to those who have reviewed, favorited, or story-alerted for the warm, fuzzy feeling I get when I see that you have done so! I hope you enjoy the new chapter just as much!**

**-Ballerina Terminator  
**

Chapter Four: Fever Dreams

When Ariadne woke up the next morning it was later than she had planned, and she felt a bit like she was walking around in a fog. Her muscles ached as though she had really performed all of the dream training that she had done the day before. It was enough of an effort to get dressed; there was no way that she was going to walk. She forwent the option of breakfast and called a taxi instead.

When she got to the hotel and knocked on Arthur's door, it was Eames's door, just behind her that opened. She whirled around and staggered for a moment before Arthur put out a hand to steady her. She glanced up to find him giving her a very penetrating look.

"Oh, no, not you too," he sighed, placing a hand on the side of her face. The gesture startled her, but before she could react, he had moved his hand to her forehead.

"Fever," he pronounced with resignation. "Go on in." He stepped back to let her walk into Eames's room.

Eames was laying on the farther of the two queen-sized beds in the room, looking as bad as Ariadne felt. A mug of steaming tea sat on the night stand next to the bed.

Ariadne plopped down on the vacant bed, and Arthur poured hot water into a second mug and handed it to her. She watched mutely as the tea leaves in the tiny bag slowly turned the water brown before taking a careful sip.

"Do you feel nauseous as well?" She shook her head emphatically.

"Well, thank God for small mercies. Give me your coat and take off your shoes. You might as well lie down; we'll just turn the room into a sick chamber. I've already called a doctor to come over."

"You mean like a house call?" she asked, although it came out more like a croak.

"Yes, just like a house call," he said, taking the cup from her, and placing it on the nightstand next to the other mug. "Come on, let's have the coat." She kicked off her shoes, and he helped her off with the jacket and the scarf, before she scrambled under the covers as she started to shiver. Suddenly something occurred to her.

"My assignment for Professor Miles! It's still on my kitchen table."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure Miles gets it," he promised. "I'll have to go see him anyway to tell him why you can't go see him. Is your apartment key in your purse?"

"Yes. Tell him I'm so sorry."

"I will. Just relax. I'll take care of everything."

It had not escaped the notice of Stephen Miles that his favorite student was absent from his class on Thursday afternoon, and it weighed on him to see her empty seat when he could well imagine her asleep next to Arthur Hamilton with a needle in her arm. It was, therefore, with some surprise that he saw Arthur making his way to the front of the classroom during the mass exodus after he had dismissed his students.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hamilton. May I ask what you have done with my favorite student?"

"I left both her and Eames in bed with the flu. She wanted me to bring you this." Arthur handed him the folder that he had taken from the kitchen table in Ariadne's apartment.

"Ah, good girl. I would not like you to think that your invitation to tea was contingent on Miss Gray's ability to attend. Follow me to my office. It may be useless to work in, but it is a very nice place to have a chat."

Arthur followed the professor though the hallways until they reached a small hole-in-the-wall room. The desk and filing cabinet had been shoved to the side and four comfortable-looking chairs took up the majority of the space. Miles placed his bag down on the desk and turned on a coffee maker that sat on the filing cabinet. In a few seconds, piping hot water began to drip into the pot.

"Please, sit down. Tell me, how is it that you have escaped the illness that plagues the other two?"

"I got my flu shot," Arthur replied with amusement.

"Is she at home resting?" he asked as he poured the hot water into a tea pot.

"No, she and Eames are in his hotel room. Her roommate is out of town, and I thought it better if she were not left alone."

"How do you take your tea?"

"Crème, no sugar, please."

"Very thoughtful of you. I am pleased to find that you are looking out for her."

"I could hardly leave her to take care of herself," Arthur said with a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

"Of course not. I just hope that you plan to take that view when it comes to the job. I must tell you, I didn't approve of many of the jobs that you and Dom took on, and I don't like the idea of Ariadne getting mixed up in some of the groups that you were involved with."

"To be completely honest, I didn't like it anymore than I imagine you did," Arthur confessed as he took the proffered cup of tea. "The only reason that I worked on the jobs at all was because I knew that Cobb needed the money for the lawyers. If it had been anyone else, I wouldn't have done it."

"I am glad that is over then. So, I can have your assurance that there will be no more jobs with Cobol or any of their ilk while you work with Ariadne?"

"Sir, I wouldn't do jobs like that again if I were working alone and desperate for the money. Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Why are you so concerned about her? Is it because you feel responsible for having recommended her?"

"That is part of it. The other part is that Ariadne Gray is a very kind but, in some ways, a very innocent young woman without any family and only a handful of friends whom might notice if she were to disappear. She needs someone who knows what she is doing to watch out for her interests. I don't pretend to have any right to speak on her behalf; as much as I like the girl, my closest connection to her is as her teacher and perhaps as her friend, but, as she has no one else, I shall be impertinent."

Arthur looked up in interest. "No family at all?"

"Not since the death of her grandmother a little over two years ago. It was not a good time for her as I recall, and I was most alarmed to find that she had no other family. I believe she lived with her grandmother in France from a time when she was quite young, and she gave me the impression she was very attached to her grandmother."

"She has no one else?"

"A handful of friends of whom she speaks with great affection. Look, I'm not asking you to pity her or take the girl in as a poor lost orphan, and I'm not asking you to become her personal body guard. I'm just asking you not to throw her to the wolves."

"I swear, there will be only domestic canines involved. Unfortunately, I can't rule them out at all," he said with the ghost of an impish smile on his face. "Eames is our extractor."

"Well, then, let's move on to more cheerful topics. Tell me, is she really as good as Dom says? I notice that she carefully avoids the topic of dreams."

Arthur debated momentarily before reopening his leather messenger bag and handing the professor the second folder that he had taken from Ariadne's kitchen table. It was the folder of mazes and drawings that she had shown him the day before. Miles took it and began to flip through the pages. Arthur watched his eyebrows rise as he made his way through the folder.

"How long has she been working on these?"

"I don't know. For a while, I believe. I think she is afraid of upsetting you or making you worry," Arthur said, not without irony.

"So considerate of an old man's feelings. Well, I'm glad to see her work. I see she still favors the gothic for her churches. Yes, quite remarkable." Miles handed him back the folder. "I can see why you want to keep her as your Architect."

When Arthur walked back into the hotel room, he saw that Ariadne had climbed into the bed next to Eames and they had a laptop propped up between them. Arthur sat down on the bed next to Ariadne, glanced at the screen, and saw that they were half way through "Ten Things I Hate About You".

"Aren't you two a little old for this movie?"

Ariadne glared up at him groggily. "Are you kidding? Of course not. Besides, I thought Cameron was the cutest thing on God's green earth when I was sixteen."

"I miss Heath Ledger," Eames said despondently. "Did you see him as Joker in the last Batman movie?"

"Yeah," Ariadne said sympathetically. "I cried when I found out he died."

Arthur handed a bag to Ariadne. "Fresh clothing. I asked the wife of your building manager to pick out some things for you. I didn't want to go through your things, but I thought you might like some things to wear."

"And people say that chivalry is dead," Ariadne said, affecting a southern belle accent. "Kind sir, how can I ever repay you?" Eames gave a snort of laughter, and she jabbed him in the shoulder with her elbow. "Really though," she went on, sans cheesy accent. "I do appreciate it."

"You're welcome," he said rolling his eyes. "Are you two up to going under for a while?"

"Can we?" Ariadne asked.

"I talked to Yusuf, and he said it would be fine as long as neither of you are the dreamer."

"Why not?"

"You've had dreams when you are sick in the past?"

"Yes."

"What were they like?"

"Weird. Very weird"

"Well, that can translate into shared dreams, and you'll get torn apart by the projections of your companions."

Ariadne grimaced.

"Anyway," he continued, "I'm going to start by showing you some of the dreams that the other architects I've worked with have done, and some of the mistakes that they've made."

"You two have fun," Eames said, rolling over. "I'm taking a nap."

"Are you feeling up to it?" Arthur asked Ariadne.

"I'm fine. Let's go."

Arthur spent the rest of the afternoon showing Ariadne minor errors made by Architects that became major problems, beginning with the rug in Saito's apartment. He described to her how Saito had realized that he was still in a dream because he recognized the wrongness of the fibers, and how it ruined the extraction.

"All because of the bathroom rug?" she asked.

"He disliked it enough to take notice of it in reality, so he noticed how it had changed."

"It is a hideous rug," she conceded.

"Shared dreaming is almost like lucid dreaming; it is easier for your subject to notice the things that are not normal which is why it is difficult and dangerous to recreate from reality. Another time, the subject noticed that the sun was setting at the wrong time for that time of the year, and then she noticed that it was setting in what in reality would have been the north. It is better to avoid recreating real places if you can avoid it, but I'll have you practice a bit, just in case. Let's move on."

The next thing he showed her was the outline of a maze that unintentionally created a loop from which the extraction team could not escape. Ariadne then really impressed him when she spotted the problem before he had pointed out the error. He told her so before they moved on and pretended not to notice when she blushed.

Later, room service brought up their dinner, and as she sipped on her soup, Ariadne was treated to a brief lecture on psychology as it pertained to extraction subjects in dreams. By nine, Eames had fallen asleep again, and Arthur could tell that Ariadne was ready to nod off.

"We could get you your own room if it would make you more comfortable," he offered.

"No, I'm fine," she insisted. "And I really am grateful for everything you've done."

"Don't worry about it. Get some sleep okay?"

Rather than responding, she plopped back on her pillow and yawned before rolling over and closing her eyes. Arthur turned off the light as he left.

The next morning showed considerable improvement in the patients, especially in regards to lucidity, but Arthur still held off from letting them work as the dreamers. The Point Man and Extractor/Forger had originally planned to stay in Paris through Friday, but they extended their stay through the weekend as the flu slowed down the work. By Saturday, Arthur and Eames were running Ariadne though past jobs that they had performed to give her more experience in extraction situations, although they told her that without a proper subject to extract from, one who feared to let go of secrets, it would not be nearly as complicated.

By Sunday, it was clear that full recoveries would be just around the corner, and later that afternoon, Arthur drove Ariadne back to her apartment. He stopped her before she got out.

"You're doing very well. Design more dreams until I see you again. I know that for a job you usually need to tailor the level to the subject, but sometimes you can alter dreams that you've already designed to fit your needs, and it is always important to stay in practice."

"When do you think you'll be back?" she asked.

"By the end of September if we don't get a job before then."

"Well then, I look forward to seeing you in a few weeks if not sooner," she said, picking up her things and getting out of the car. Before she shut the door, she ducked her head down so she could see the point man. "Take care of yourself," she instructed, closing the door and heading into the building.


	5. Chapter 5 Compound Interest

**Author's Note: Okay, my friends, here is chapter five, and, of course, I very much hope you like it. This story is sort of set up in three 'acts', if you will, and this chapter is a bit of a transition between Act I and Act II. I realize action has been somewhat slow, but that will definitely pick up in the very near future. I will try to keep up with updates every four days, but as finals are on the horizon, I can make no promises. Also, the key between the "F" key and the "H" key on my laptop seems to have died, so this may make the transition from my notebook to Microsoft Word a bit troublesome. (Notice that at no time in the whole of this note -added after the chapter was finished- have I used the key in question. Impressive, no?) Anyway, without further ado, the disclaimer...**

**Disclaimer: I just checked, and it turns out that I still do not own Inception. It is still Christopher Nolan's. I will, however, keep you posted if this state of affairs happens to alter.  
**

Chapter Five: Compound Interest

The last Thursday in September found Ariadne sitting in Professor Miles's office curled up in her favorite chair, an absolutely ancient arm. She sat sketching as she waited for the professor to return to his office. Their weekly tea visit had been interrupted by an unforeseen departmental meeting of some kind that needed his attention as a senior member of the faculty, and he left her with a promise to return as soon as he was able. That had been nearly an hour ago, but she was so caught up in her work that she had barely noticed the time passing. She had nearly destroyed the paper that she had been sketching on with all of the furious erasing that she had been forced to do. The maze she was trying to create was turning into a huge mess. She had gotten through to the end before she realized her last pathways were not going to line up correctly. She had been forced to back track further and further until she had gotten to the root of the problem which turned out to be nearly half way back through her work. It was so damned disheartening. Arthur was going to be in Paris again sometime in the next day or two, and she had only one fully actualized dream prepared.

The first dream she had created was a beautiful dream, with an old English manor full of winding staircases, secret passageways, and hidden compartments. It was pure fun, and Ariadne had almost hated to have it finished. It was a murder-mystery readers' dream home, no joke intended, it had been so wonderful to design, and she absolutely couldn't wait to show it off.

It was the second dream that was giving her trouble. Her inspiration had seemed to peter out after the first one, as though her brain had just fizzled out. She hadn't even gotten the outline of the maze finished after that mess-up, and now she feeling frustrated and put out by the whole thing. A second dream wasn't really necessary, after all. She hadn't been told to do anything specific and had been given no parameters about what it was to include. Arthur had merely told her to practice. She sighed heavily as she studied the horribly worn and smudged paper before her, trying to figure out where she wanted the pathways to go.

"Did you get a bit upset with your work?"

Ariadne jumped at the sound of Stephen Miles's voice above her right shoulder. She looked up to see him studying her unfinished maze.

"Sorry," she murmured and quickly made to put away her work, but he placed a hand on her arm to stop her as he continued to look it over.

"What went wrong?" he asked.

"Hubris," she replied. "I tried to be very clever, and it didn't work out at all. Now, I think it just isn't worth fighting with. Arthur will be back soon to see what I've been working on, and I only have the one design done and now not even the start of a second."

"Have you the designs of your first one with you?"

Ariadne nodded and when he held out his hand, she hesitantly pulled a folder out from her pack and handed it to him. She watched nervously as he browsed the floor plans and sketches of the rooms and grounds.

"Have you been reading Sherlock Holmes as of late?" he asked with amusement.

"Maybe a little Agatha Christie," she admitted.

He gave a soft chuckle. "You are worried that this won't be enough?" he asked, turning a page.

"Not exactly," she replied. "I just wanted to have more. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy having my teammates impressed with my work. I think the thing that I am most in danger of is an addiction to praise. I really enjoy it."

"It is well deserved," came Arthur's voice from the doorway. She turned to see him leaning on the frame, arms crossed in front of him. He straightened from his relaxed position and sat in the chair to Ariadne's right. "May I see?"

Miles passed him the folder, and again Ariadne was left in a state of suspense as her work was gone over for a second time.

A smile spread across his face. "I see Dame Christie's influence. You must have enjoyed this project. All of these sketches are so detailed. I can't wait to see it."

Ariadne brightened at the tone of approval. "I didn't expect you so soon! When did you get in?"

"My plane landed about an hour ago. I figured that you'd be here, and I decided to stop by to see if you and the professor would like to go to dinner."

"That sounds wonderful," Ariadne replied standing up and putting her things away.

"And you, Professor?"

"I am afraid that I must decline. I have to hand back papers tomorrow, therefore they must be graded tonight."

"Another time, then?" Arthur asked.

"Of course."

"Let us pick something up for you then," Ariadne insisted.

"No, my dear, I am fine. Go have fun."

"Then don't work too hard."

"If I must, I have only my own procrastination to blame. Have a good evening."

"Good night, sir, she said before turning to the door. She was nearly out before he stood and called her back.

"Ariadne."

"Yes?"

"I don't want you to feel like you have to hide your work from me. You don't have to fear reproof or worry about making me feel bad. In fact, if you will forgive my nosy attitude, I feel much better knowing what you are up to."

Ariadne gave him a relieved smile. "Yes, Professor Miles."

"And I do believe that we can safely dispense with the 'Professor' outside of the classroom."

She nodded and gave him a quick hug before taking Arthur's arm and letting her escort her out.

When Ariadne walked into her apartment on Saturday evening, shortly after saying her farewells to Arthur, their work together having been completed, and he had left her with a promise to keep in touch with her.

Ariadne and Arthur had begun their Thursday evening dinner discussing Agatha Christie and then moving on to other authors, each recommending their own favorites to the other, before moving on to other topics. They had spoken of many things, from politics to childhood pets, but dreams were not mentioned. They had an unspoken agreement that, for the evening, they would not talk shop.

They made up for it during the next two days, going over in detail the house and grounds that she had designed. Ariadne had quite enjoyed walking around in a 1920's dress, one which she had pulled straight from a movie, in the house that she had spent so much time imagining, and she thought that Arthur had enjoyed himself as well. He had laughed at the apple tree in the front of the house, pleasing Ariadne by noticing the Agatha Christie reference.

She had loved showing off her creation, feeling as though as she were a proud parent showing off her beautiful and clever child. She reveled in Arthur's praise of both the design of the maze and the aesthetics of the environment.

Ariadne was pulled from her happy recollections as Marie-Claude called out to her from the other room.

"Would you grab the sushi from the refrigerator and bring it into the dining room?" her friend called.

Ariadne put down her things on the kitchen table and headed to the fridge. She pulled out the chilled sushi and cut it up and plated it. She took it into the dining room where Marie-Claude was setting out napkins and two pairs of chopsticks.

"_Ça va_?"

"Oh, fine," Ariadne said, sitting down to the right of her friend. "You had a good time last night? You must have, as you didn't get in until after I went to bed."

"Oh, he was very nice, and I did have a very good time."

"But?"

"But he is maybe not so bright," she said regretfully.

"Oh, well," Ariadne said with sad sympathy. "_C'est la vie_." She reached for the bowl of rice noodles and scooped some onto her plate.

"And you, you met with your friend, Arthur today?" she asked.

"I did," Ariadne said before taking a bite of sushi.

Without warning, Marie-Claude had seized Ariadne's left arm and twisted it around, so she could see the numerous puncture wounds on her arm.

"Are you having an affair with a drug dealer?" she demanded.

Ariadne choked on her sushi. "_Mon Dieu_," she stammered. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Well, I would like to see you explain these then," the French girl replied, gesturing to the needle marks that marred her wrist. "And the drawings that you've been doing that are not possible and this secret job that you have. Do not lie to me, Ariadne."

Ariadne almost laughed, but the obvious distress in her friend kept her from more than a restrained smile. "No, Marie-Claude, I'm not going to lie to you. I'm just not sure how much I can tell you. If it were just me, if I were working alone, I'd tell you everything. It's just not up to me though."

"So, this is for work?" she asked, again gesturing to the wrist that she had in a tight grip.

"Yes, would you let go of me? That really hurts!" Ariadne complained.

Marie-Claude let go of her arm. "What _can_ you tell me?"

"I don't know. What do you want to know?"

"Is it illegal?"

"Not necessarily."

"But it can be?"

Ariadne thought for a moment. "Think of it as a kind of… corporate espionage kind of thing," she said vaguely.

"Are you taking any drugs?"

"Nothing that hasn't been given to me by a professional chemist and maybe some Tylenol."

"Chemist?"

"A pharmacist. _Un pharmacien_."

"And what is your job?"

"I'm the Architect."

"And what kind of architecture job includes needles?"

"That's a little harder to explain. I really can't go into that."

"And what is Arthur's job?"

"Public relations," Ariadne said without skipping a beat, and after a moment she added, "and research."

"And the other one?"

"Eames."

"Yes, him. What is his job?"

Ariadne considered for a moment. "I guess he would be sort of the psychological profiler."

"And what are they paying you to stick these needles in your arm?"

"Well, you remember the inheritance money that I got?"

"Yes…" Marie-Claude said in a voice that made it clear that she did not like where this was going.

"That was the job in June."

Marie-Claude was very quiet for a very long time. When she finally spoke it was in a quiet voice.

"It is dangerous, what you are doing." It was not a question.

"It can be," Ariadne confessed, "but Arthur is very particular about what jobs we will accept."

Marie-Claude looked at her with a calculating glare, but she seemed to be waiting for Ariadne to continue.

Ariadne sighed. "Would you worry less if I said that I promise to avoid doing anything to make you worry?"

"You promise that you will be very careful?"

"Very," Ariadne assured her with a gentle pat on the hand. "Let's eat this lovely dinner that you have made for us. Now that I have told you of the nefarious things that I have been up to, you must tell me about this boy of yours who is not very bright."


	6. Chapter 6 Counter Defense

**Author's Note: Here we are once a****gain, my darling readers, and I am pleased to present to you the sixth chapter in my story. Things will definitely be picking up from here in terms of action. I hope you very much enjoy it. In other news, I have temporarily fixed my lack of a functioning 'G' key problem by copying a 'g' and hitting the 'Ctrl+V' instead of the 'G'. It can be a bit awkward, and I still have to insert the capital letter occasionally, but it'll do for now. Again to all those who review, thanks for the wonderful excited feeling that I get when I open my e-mail and find that I have reviews waiting for me. It simply makes my day.**

**All my love,**

**Ballerina Terminator**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. It does not belong to… You know what? Forget this. It's mine! All mine! Christopher Nolan can sue me for all I'm worth! (It's only $1.29, Chris. It would be a monumental waste of your time.) It's mine now! Bwahahahahahaha!**

Chapter Six - Counter Defense

Ariadne would, by the end of that dreary Tuesday in late October, consider it the best day she had had all month, but it certainly didn't give that impression initially. In fact, it had seemed to be shaping up to be anything but good. If someone had told her at noon that day that she would consider it a wonderful day, she would have laughed at them, but they would have gotten off easy, for if someone had told her it was going to be a wonderful day at three in the afternoon, she very well might have punched them. However, at five past three, she would have been willing to agree whole heartedly that it was shaping up to be a fantastic day after all.

It started with small things, as these kinds of days so often do, which, if considered on their own, would merely have been misfortunes, but when taken together seemed to constitute endless disaster. She woke up reluctantly to the sound of the alarm going off, pulling her from pleasant dreams , and immediately was overcome with a desire to throw the device across the room, as though some small part of her saw this as an omen of the difficulties to come that day. This feeling passed with the quickly fading memory of her dreams which, by the time she reached the kitchen, were forgotten forever. She ignored the unwashed dishes in the sink which had were far from reaching the crisis point at which either she or Marie-Claude would be mortified into cleaning them lest any guest see in them their deficiencies in housekeeping. It was more difficult, however, to ignore the leak coming in through her ceiling that, while being quite small, had not needed to be any bigger to completely ruin her new sketches on the kitchen table. Groaning peevishly, she pulled out a bucket and mop while she called the building superintendent, phone nestled between her shoulder and ear. Twenty minutes later, with her kitchen clean, a bucket under the leak, and the superintendent's assurances that he would have the leak addressed quickly, she went back to her room to change for class, all interest she may have had in breakfast lost. This, it turned out, was only the beginning.

Shortly after noon, things were looking very grim indeed when, after leaving Professor Miles to grade papers, she left the building to discover dark clouds gathering and lightning flashing ominously while her rain coat sat in the closet by the front door of her apartment. By the time she had walked to the bookstore where she worked that stood not far from the university, barely making it by one, the lovely silk dress she was wearing which she liked so well, was soaked through making her feel more like a half drowned cat than a sophisticated young woman. It was with this dim outlook that she took her damp tresses and twisting the hair in a knot at the nape of her neck, skewered two pencils through it to keep it in place.

It was true that if she had so chosen, Ariadne would not have needed to continue the part time job she had at the antique bookshop following her great financial gain that came with the inception of Robert Fischer. She could have, if she had so chosen, gone for the next ten years living in great comfort, without so much as lifting a finger. It was her adoration for her employers, an elderly couple, the owners of the store set up in their retirement, which, more than any else, had influenced her decision to continue there. They had been very generous to her in past times of financial difficulty, and she was able to convince the couple, after explaining her dramatic change in financial situation as an unexpected inheritance, to let her continue to work for them in a more voluntary capacity. It had not been easy to resign them to letting her work without pay, but she had managed to at least be allowed to read books to children in the after school hours, although she slowly began resuming some of her former duties. It had to be admitted that while playing with and reading to the children was what she really enjoyed, she also felt that the job gave her a sense of purpose in an otherwise very open schedule. The only true irritant that she found in the situation came from bad-tempered customers.

Customers, as anyone who has ever worked in a customer service position knows, vary greatly in manner, but in most instances they are if not pleasant, then at least unoffending. Mostly. This is, unfortunately, not universally true, and it will eventually occur that however you may try to help some people, there is nothing you or anyone else can do to please them. These are the times that try service representatives' souls.

On this day, Ariadne knew it was coming as soon as she saw the face of the young woman, as she walked through the door shortly before the grandfather clock in the corner struck three and headed in her direction.

Ariadne would have had to admit, if she were at all willing to be honest, that the woman was beautiful. She was tall, slender, and fair with features that could have been described as elven, or even fairy-like, but at first, all Ariadne could see was the expression. Rosebud lips were turned down in a tight frown, and elegant eyebrows were arched as she approached the register counter behind which Ariadne stood and, in a tone that demanded more than inquired, asked to be provided with a specific book. It was with a real, deep regret and a fair idea about what the reaction to this news might be that Ariadne apologized and informed her that she had just sold their only copy the day before.

Ariadne hated to have people upset with her, and with customers it was worse, as she felt unable to properly stand up for herself without losing the customer for the store. So, it was in growing distress in which she found herself, several minutes later, trying in vain to appease the customer in front of her. Offers for special orders and apologies fell on deaf ears, and Ariadne began to wonder if she was expected to produce the book from thin air. Ariadne was squirming uncomfortably when she happened to glance behind the woman at the next waiting customer to see Arthur standing there, sharp as ever. The look of surprise that crossed her face did not go unnoticed by the woman on a tirade, and she paused to glance behind her. The woman's demeanor changed instantly. The tight frown curved into a pleasing smile, and her stance relaxed.

"Is there a problem, mademoiselle?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, you know there is no managing sometimes," the blonde replied, certainly managing to simper as she spoke. "Some human beings are simply a waste of space," the woman continued with a pout. A flame of white hot loathing flared up in Ariadne's chest and burned up any previous feelings of discomfort.

"I believe I understand the problem," he said, stepping forward. "Allow me to see if I can help the situation."

Ariadne gave a start. Now, she watched him warily he turned to her.

"Come now, don't you find this situation rather ridiculous. Please, let me take you away from this. This," he continued, placing an airplane ticket down on the counter between them, "is a first class seat next to mine, and it is all yours if you want it." He smiled softly at her, and she tried and failed to subdue the look of complete adoration that spread across her face. "We both know that there is no reason for you to put up with this treatment." He jerked his head back at the woman.

Ariadne knew that the look on the blonde woman's face just before she left in a huff would stay with her for the rest of her life. It would keep her warm on cold, lonely nights. Ariadne watched in complete contentment as the door slammed behind her, and she marched off into the renewed downpour.

"So are you coming?" he asked, regaining her attention.

"Tell me, my knight in shining Armani," she said with good humor. "Where are we going?"

"Afghanistan."

"Really? When are we going to leave?" Ariadne made a grab for the ticket.

"Tonight. I've been by to see Miles. He told me where you would be. You get an extension for your test next week. He was very pleased to hear that we are staying completely on the right side of the law for this job."

"We are?" She positively lit up with excitement.

"Yes, we'll be working for the U.S. military. We'll learn more when we get there."

Ariadne glanced at her watch. "I will be free at four."

"You are free now, silly girl," a soft voice with a very thick French accent proclaimed. A thin woman with a friendly smile and an exasperated air strode over. She must have been in her late sixties, but her hair remained its original bright red. "I keep telling you that you don't have to work. Now, tell me, who is your handsome young friend?"

Ariadne introduced Arthur to Mme. Lestrade, the owner of the bookstore. The woman's face crinkled into a smile as she looked him over.

"You go. I have everything in hand," she declared firmly, giving Ariadne a slight nudge toward the door. "You have better things to do than sit in this bookstore on a rainy day."

A note was left on the dining room table for Marie-Claude which explained that Ariadne would be out of town for a time while failing to say what the length of that time might be. There would be hell to pay when she got back, but Ariadne put that firmly out of her mind as she left her apartment at five in the afternoon with her suitcase filled with practical clothing for the rugged terrain of eastern Afghanistan.

They took a commercial flight from France to a German airport, where they were picked up and transported to a nearby United States military base. Eames greeted them on their arrival, PASIV in hand. It was not long before they were boarded onto a personnel transport plane on a direct course to the Middle East.

Shortly after the plane had taken off, Ariadne turned to Arthur.

"How did we get this job?" she asked. "Whatever it is."

"I got my start in shared dreaming though the military. I still have some friends in the military's shared dreaming program."

"How'd you get into it?"

"I decided on going to military school when I graduated from high school. After my first year, they started a program for shared dreaming, and I got to participate. It was still pretty new then, and I got to stick with it when I showed some aptitude for it."

"How did you start working with Cobb, then?" she asked. "I mean, if you were in the military."

"I wasn't. I never finished school. Early in my fourth year, I screwed up my knee, my right knee, pretty badly, and it took three surgeries and two years to heal properly. It still gets stiff sometimes. Washed the whole military career down the drain pretty thoroughly."

"What happened?"

"Nothing remarkable. I fell while climbing and just happened to land badly. I tore up the ligaments." Ariadne winced in sympathy, but Arthur gave a little resigned shrug at the unpredictability of life when small events turn out to have lasting consequences. "I was pretty upset at the time, but one of the officers, Col. Carpenter, that worked in the dream sharing program suggested that I should keep working with it and gave me Miles's information. So, I met Cobb and Mal when I was about twenty-three; I think they were just about to become engaged. The market for extraction and sub-defense was just beginning to pick up about that time; now I can't quite imagine doing anything else."

"And now we are going to see Col. Carpenter?"

"Yes, he contacted me about the job."

"If they already have this program, why do they need us?"

"Dream sharing for the military is still mainly used for training. They don't have much experience in extraction, so they need some private contractors."

"And what will we do when we get there?"

"We will report in and be debriefed on what they need extracted and from whom, and then we'll get to work. Speaking of work, you should probably get some sleep while you can. We'll be getting in first thing in the morning, and they will probably waste no time getting started."

Ariadne was tired, but she was much too excited to sleep. So, when the airplane touched down in Afghanistan, Ariadne was able to see the sun coming up over the mountainous horizon as they landed.

**Very Important Author's Note: Dear Readers,**

**We interrupt your re****gularly scheduled story to bring you this important announcement. At this point there are a couple of things that I would like to note.**

**All I know about Afghanistan, and specifically military activity in the area, comes from the news, Wiki, and the stories and pictures given to me by friends after they came back. The picture I give of anything there will not be accurate, nor do I want it to be. We are going to work with the understanding that this is a purely fictional version of our world. There is only so much research that I'm willing to put into for a story that will be seen by a grand total of maybe 400 people worldwide (if that). I have to study my microbiology at some time.**

**It is NOT my intention to make any kind of political statement with this story outside of the idea that terrorism = bad. As long as we can all agree that terrorism = bad, I believe that we will get along in this story splendidly. My inspiration for this part of the story comes from the understanding that shared dreaming was developed by the military. Again, not trying to make any kind of political statement. There is a time and place for that, and it is not in the story that I am writing for the entertainment of others.**

**Thank you for your patience and understanding in this matter. We now return you to your original programming.**

**-BT **

Not long after alighting from the airplane onto the tarmac of the base airstrip Ariadne found herself, along with Arthur, Eames, and their luggage, in a small room with a conference table in it. Around said conference table sat five officers, two on either side and one at the head of the table, a colonel with red hair streaked with white who regarded Arthur with something like amusement.

"Mr. Hamilton, good to see you again, "he said with an amiable smile. How was your flight?"

"Fine, sir. It is good to see you too. I'd like to introduce our Architect, Ariadne Gray," Arthur said gesturing where she stood on his left.

Ariadne felt some anxiety begin to creep over her as five pairs of eyes shifted their attention to her, but she suppressed the inclination to shift uncomfortably.

"Miss Gray," the colonel greeted her. "Mr. Hamilton tells me that you are an exceptionally talented Architect. I look forward to seeing your work."

Ariadne hoped it was just her imagination, but she felt that some of the people at the table were inclined to reserve judgment. She suddenly wished that she had gone with more formal business attire rather than her usual ensemble.

"And our extractor, Phillip Eames," Arthur continued, indicating Eames with a slight tilt of his head.

"Pleased to meet you. I am Col. Carpenter; I am the head of the U.S. military Shared Dream Program. The officers to my right are Capt. Walker and Lt. Col. Striker. The officers to my left are Maj. Yandell and Capt. Spivey. It will be Capt. Spivey who will be brief you on the task at hand."

Capt. Spivey stood and handed each member of the extraction team a manila folder. Ariadne opened the file to find a picture paper-clipped to the inside of the folder and a stack of documents. The picture looked much like a mug shot of a middle-aged man with rough cut black hair glowering at the camera.

"This," said Capt. Spivey, "is the subject. He is member of Al'Queda, and he was recently captured in caves near the Pakistani border, not far from here. The information that we want from him, the information that we believe he has, is the locations of several top operatives in Al'Queda, but of course any other information that you could provide us with would be truly appreciated. Background information on the subject is included in the file, and he is being held on base. We will, of course, try to provide you with whatever supplies or information you might need. We have your work room set up to your specifications, but is there anything that you think might be necessary?"

Arthur glanced at Eames who was flipping through the bio provided in the file. Eames didn't look up, but he gave slightest shake of the head. Arthur then turned to Ariadne who hesitated for just a moment before speaking.

"I don't know much about the architecture or landscape of the area, and I know even less about local culture. I can create a good maze easily, but I need to get to know the setting that I'm putting it in. I could use a chance to spend some time getting a close look at the surrounding towns and countryside. You said he was captured in caves? I could use that, but I'd need to see them. Are they close enough for me to visit?"

"I believe we can put together a unit to go out with you."

"I could also use a camera, and any photos of the surrounding area that might be available. Not so much people, but objects, structures, and terrain."

"A camera can be provided for, and I would venture to say that most people take pictures and even do some filming. I believe that you should have no trouble finding volunteers to provide you with copies of the most useful ones."

"Excellent. The more I have to pull from, the better. Thank you."

"Is there anything else you can think of?"

Ariadne shrugged her shoulders. "I don't think so."

"And for you, Mr. Hamilton?"

"Does the report include a psychological evaluation for the subject?" Arthur asked, flipping through the pages of the file.

"It does," Maj. White confirmed. "The psychologist is also available if you wish to speak with him."

After a moment of silence, Col. Carpenter stood up and walked around to table to where Arthur, Eames, and Ariadne stood. "Now, I'm sure that you'd like a chance to clean up and get something to eat after your long flight. I would like to remind you that this should not be spoken with anyone but yourselves and these present officers." He opened the door and called to a young female soldier who stood at attention just outside the room.

The dark-haired young woman came into the room and gave a sharp salute.

"Miss Gray, this is Corp. Munoz; she will be showing you to your quarters. Corporal, if you would help Miss Gray to her rooms and then to the mess hall." The corporal turned sharply to the Architect with a hint of an appraising look in her glance. She was a good half-foot taller than Ariadne but could not have been far from Ariadne's own age, and if Ariadne were to have guessed, she would have been inclined to say that Corp. Munoz was younger than herself. She waited motionless for Ariadne to retrieve her belongings.

Ariadne gathered her things as quickly as she could manage and followed the corporal out of the room. When the door closed behind them, Corp. Munoz turned back to Ariadne and held out her hand.

"Harper," she introduced herself, humor replacing the look of appraisal. It made her look younger still.

"Ariadne." Ariadne relaxed with the sudden drop in formality.

Harper Munoz took one of the cases from Ariadne, and Ariadne followed her out of the building and into the early morning sun.


	7. Chapter 7 Walls of Jericho

**Author's Note: Welcome back, my lovely people. I would like to take a moment to thank my darlin****g, dedicated Beta reader, Nae-Nae. She may be one of the best friends that anyone could hope to have during their sort stay on this planet, and without her, you would not be enjoying this story. (If you've kept**** reading up until now, I'm just going to assume that yo****u have enjoyed it. If you haven't, what could compel you to continue?) She's been a martyr to every problem I've had with this story since August. And now, without further ado, the disclaimer…**

**Disclaimer: Kind people have sat me down and explained to me that I cannot steal ****Inception**** by merely claiming that I own it. A great setback to be sure, but I have not given up. But, until I do figure out how to steal it from him, ****Inception**** still belongs to Christopher Nolan.**

Chapter Seven – Walls of Jericho

When Ariadne came into the nearly empty the mess hall after Harper had helped her settle in, she sank down into a seat across the table from Arthur and Eames, who had arrived before her. She dug into her meal with enthusiasm.

"Doing all right, Sleeping Beauty?" Eames asked. Ariadne rolled her eyes at the nickname, but she nodded, her mouth full.

"You didn't have too much difficulty getting away on such short notice?" Eames asked. "I understand that you didn't get your marching orders until after three yesterday."

"No, I got off all right, but it's the going back that's worrying me. My roommate, Marie-Claude, is going to be livid. She's been worried about me as it is, and this will only end in tears."

"What is she so worried about?" Arthur asked.

"This whole extraction business. She doesn't like it."

"You told her that you were in extraction?" Eames demanded.

"Of course not," Ariadne said. "But when Arthur came to look over my work in September, she noticed the marks all over my wrist, I had to tell her something. She was demanding to know if I was sleeping with a drug lord."

Arthur choked on his bite of eggs, and Eames burst into laughter.

"That's exactly how I reacted," Ariadne said casually, gesturing at the Point Man with her fork before using it to skewer another bite of sausage.

"So what did you say?" Arthur asked, after clearing his throat.

"Mostly, I told her that there wasn't much that I could tell her. I'll tell you that it wasn't much of an improvement from the drug dealer idea."

It took Eames a moment to regain composure, but when he did, he reached over and ruffled Ariadne's hair.

"Eames, cut it out!" Ariadne batted his hand away and pushed her hair back out of her face.

"Ariadne, that may have been the funniest things I've heard, and Arthur, the look on your face…"

"Excuse me, Miss," interrupted a young man, addressing himself to Ariadne. "I'm Lt. Home. I understand that I will be taking you to do some sight-seeing."

Ariadne turned to behold a tall, lanky man with short-cropped blonde hair. He seemed somewhat unsure in his statement, as though not sure what to make of the idea that his duties should suddenly include being a tour-guide for a young civilian woman who seemed very out of place on a military base in Afghanistan, but he continued.

"I have a camera for your use," he continued, handing her a small black camera. "You may like to bring some money; there is a large market."

It suddenly occurred to Ariadne that at the moment, her purse contained two debit cards and half a dozen Euros. She turned to Arthur, but he already had his wallet out. He handed her local currency.

"Thanks. I have to admit, I didn't foresee combining work with an opportunity to get some Christmas shopping done."

"You may be more quickly forgiven by your roommate if you get her a few souvenirs," he suggested. "It works with my little sister."

Ariadne took a few more quick bites of her eggs before hopping up and starting to head out, however before she had gotten far, Eames called her back.

"Ariadne!"

She turned around, and he waved her back. She returned, and he held out his hand.

"Scarf," he demanded. When she hesitated, he waved impatiently for her to hurry. She unwound the long red and purple scarf from around her neck and handed it to Eames.

It was thicker and longer than her light silk scarves of summer. Eames stood up and draped it over her hair.

"As young as you may appear at first glance, Sleeping Beauty, it is not young enough for you to go without your head uncovered and not attract attention," Eames said, wrapping the ends of the scarf around her shoulders. "Do your best to attract as little attention as possible."

Ariadne did not appear pleased by the necessary alterations in her wardrobe, but she nodded and promised to stay out of trouble before heading out.

Later that evening, Arthur walked into the room that had been given over for their use. It contained two desks, three cots set up around a table where the PASIV device sat unopened for the moment, and a work area for Ariadne. A few maze outlines, ones she had devised prior to the current job, lay out on the table along with a handful of small sketches that had been done as late as that afternoon. Her laptop was open, and the screen displayed a file of the pictures that she had during the day. The Architect herself was absent.

Eames sat at one of the desks making notes in the file that had been given to them that morning. He looked up at Arthur's entrance.

"How'd it go with the psychologist?" Eames asked.

"Not bad," Arthur replied, "but we have a nasty piece of work here. He'd be lucky to get coal for Christmas."

"Yes, I've gathered that," Eames said capping his pen and laying it down on the open file. "Do you think that it'll come out in his projections?"

"It very well could be, but I also think that one level, as long as the maze is sufficiently complicated, should be enough. I think the quicker we're in and out again, the better. I also think that Ariadne should not go under for the extraction."

"It'll take longer if we take the time to have her teach one of us the dream," Eames pointed out. "Especially if she makes it complicated."

"We're under no time constraints, and it will be faster with only two. Did I mention his attitude toward women?"

"All right," Eames conceded. "You've got a point."

"Where is Ariadne?"

"She went off with Corporal Munoz to take up a collection of pictures taken of the local area."

In fact, Ariadne was headed back to the work room with more than a hundred pictures on her jump drive contributed to the project by several soldiers who had been very nice about giving copies of pictures they had taken to a strange young woman who could not explain why she needed them. Harper had helped by introducing her around which Ariadne had appreciated.

Now she nearly skipped into the work room, brimming with ideas that she was eager to start work on. She walked into the work room not long after Arthur had, excited to start designing.

"Get anything that you think will help?" Eames asked.

Ariadne nodded happily, holding up the jump drive.

"You didn't have any trouble while out today?"

"Not at all, I have a lovely red outfit that I can't wait for an excuse to wear, and I got one for my roommate as well as some jewelry that she'll get for Christmas. I got a quarter of my Christmas list taken care of today while I worked, and it's not a short list."

"You get us anything?" Eames asked.

"You will just have to wait until Christmas to find out, won't you?" Ariadne teased.

A knock on the door, and Arthur opened it to find Lt. Home. Arthur motioned for him to come in and closed the door behind him.

"I have just been informed that I will be taking Miss Gray to see something of the caves to the south-east tomorrow, and I wanted to inform her that we will be leaving tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred."

Ariadne acknowledged the information and thanked the lieutenant, who nodded formally and left the room promptly.

"I don't think he's sure if I'm here for work or as a vacation."

"Well, darling, I don't know if he meets many private contractors whom have sight-seeing is part of their responsibilities."

The next morning, Arthur walked out with Ariadne to meet the small unit of men that was to escort her to see the caves in which their subject had been captured. Lt. Home introduced Corp. Garza, Pvt. Riordan, and Privates John Davidson and William Davidson, a pair of twins. Ariadne was helped into a Kevlar vest by the serious Corp. Garza, who was not much taller Ariadne, while Arthur spoke to Captain Spivey, who had come to see off the expedition.

Before they loaded up, Ariadne walked over to where Arthur and the captain were standing, strapping a helmet onto her head.

"All set, Miss Gray?" asked Capt. Spivey.

"Yes, sir."

"You will be careful?" Arthur asked.

Ariadne gave him an amiable smile. "Of course."

"I'm serious, Ari. This is a dangerous area. I want you to be very careful. Keep your eyes open."

"I promise," she assured him. She gave his hand a very quick squeeze before she headed toward the armored vehicle. "I'll see you when I get back."

Ariadne enjoyed the trip out very much. The Davidson twins, brown-haired and blue-eyed, were pleased to find that she had lived in the same city in the south of Texas just outside of Houston in which they had grown up. They had attempted to see if they had any acquaintances in common before she had explained that she had not lived there for more than a handful of years before she went to live with her French grandmother, but they remained pleased about the connection and chatted with her about the few things that she did remember about the town that she had lived. Pvt. Riordon, a tall, broadly built Black man, just shy of his twentieth year, was rather reserved, but when he did speak, it was with a razor-sharp wit that never failed to make Ariadne laugh.

When they reached the edge of the area with the cave system where the subject was captured, they filled out of the vehicle, and before they started out on the short hike to the caves, they filled up the gas tank with a container in the back. Then, each of the men checked the guns slung over their shoulders, and they headed out. The hike was lovely. The view was splendid, the air was cool and refreshing, and Ariadne took a great many pictures before they had even reached the caves.

When they got to the caves, Ariadne began wander about, examining everything in minute detail. She took note of heights and depths; she studied carefully the rock face inside and out. If her companions wondered why she was so interested in the subtleties of the make-up of the cave wall, they didn't say anything, but Ariadne suspected at least some curiosity. She took pictures of everything, floor to ceiling, and she even pocketed a couple of rocks for later reference before she turned to head back out to the cave entrance. That was when things went wrong.

Early that evening, Capt. Spivey poked his head into the work room where Arthur and Eames stood, each leaning on the edge of their desks, discussing the subject's possible reactions to certain tactics. Eames had watched Arthur check his watch every few minutes for the last hour. Eames knew that dinner time had only been a rough estimate for the return of Ariadne's expedition group, but as the dinner hour approached, Arthur had begun to check his watch with increasing frequency. In the ten minutes after the meal time had started, Eames had observed Arthur check in three-minute intervals. Not that Eames could blame him, as he himself had become quite anxious to see the unit return by the time Maj. Spivey had come in.

"They're back," he said simply. "I believe that they went straight to the mess hall after they were debriefed. I told Miss Gray that I thought you may have already gone into dinner, but when we didn't see you there, I said I'd go find you. I think she needed stay and get some food in her stomach."

"Is she all right?" Eames asked. He could tell that there was something the major was not saying.

"She's fine. Just a bit done in, I'd say."

Eames nodded, not entirely satisfied, but he didn't say anything as he and Arthur headed off to join Ariadne for dinner.

Pvt. Riordan caught Arthur's eye when he and Eames walked into the mess hall and waved them over. Ariadne was sitting beside him with most of the outfit that she had gone out with sitting around her, but a small crowd had gathered around the group. She was wearing an ACU field jacket several sizes too large for her which she had pulled tightly around her. When they got close, they heard Ariadne speaking with a dismissive air, but it was obvious to Eames that she was rather uneasy. He saw Corp. Munoz standing near her regarding her with a mixture of admiration and concern.

"It's really not that big a deal, and there's no point in turning it into one. I'd really prefer to let the subject drop." Suddenly, her tone became very bright as she saw Arthur and Eames approach. "Hey, guys! What have you both done today?"

"Oh, very little of note," Eames said. "Whatcha talking about?" Eames could tell by her fallen expression that he had, as he had hoped, hit directly on a point that Ariadne was trying very much to avoid. It was Corporal Garza who obliged him.

"This little slip of a girl is one cool customer. I've never seen anyone so damn chill in my life."

"Regarding?" Arthur asked as though not certain that he was looking forward to the answer.

"We caught some fire while we were out at the caves, and we're returning fire, and she asks to borrow John's sidearm, and calm as anything she finds a good line of sight and knocks out a full round like she were at the arcade."

At this point, Ariadne had dropped her face into her hands with her elbows propped up onto the table. She gave Eames the impression of a teenager whose friends were bragging to her parents about her doing that one very cool, but very dangerous, thing that she had sworn to them she wouldn't do.

"She winged one too," Lt. Home said. His opinion of his charge had obviously evolved with this latest experience. "It was not unimpressive; I just would have liked to see her pick a place with a bit better cover. She might not have been scared, but when I realized where she had been standing, I damn well nearly had a heart attack."

Ariadne had, up to this point, kept her eyes firmly directed at the table with a look of complete mortification on her face. Eames had started to chuckle, but Arthur's expression had frozen.

"Ariadne, can I have a word?" he asked in a calm, quiet voice that made it very plain that Ariadne was not in for a chat about the weather. She shot a look at her companions that clearly said 'gee, thanks guys' in the most sarcastic of tones as she pushed herself up from her bench and followed Arthur out.

After they walked out of the mess hall, Arthur rounded on Ariadne. "What the hell were you thinking?" he snapped.

"Ah, you seem to have put your finger on the very problem. I'm pretty sure I've done 'thinking' before, and I believe that it was conspicuously absent at the time," Ariadne said in a tone that was testing the waters for a light-hearted approach to this conversation. Arthur's stony expression made it clear that it was not working. The hopeful smile faded quickly from her face. "I may have forgotten to be scared at the time," she said with a grimace.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, you know all that training you've run me through and how occasionally, I don't always make it through without getting shot, but it doesn't matter because I can always try again? I haven't used a gun outside of a dream in years. Well, when the shooting started, I kind of forgot that the whole 'trying again' thing might apply to the situation."

"You just _forgot_?" Arthur nearly shouted at her. She winced by continued to forge on.

"I know. Monumentally stupid, and I could have gotten myself killed. Look, believe me, I'm not proud of it. I can't tell you how sorry I am, especially when I think back on it, and I'm so very sorry. Please, don't be mad at me."

"Ariadne, you have got to think before you act!" Arthur _was_ shouting at her now. "As should be obvious, the way you react to a situation in a dream can be entirely different from the way you would in reality, and you can no longer afford to just go with whatever may come naturally to you in either situation. It may be the wrong automatic reaction!"

"You think I don't realize that? You think it hasn't dawned on me that I just damn well nearly walked into crossfire without even thinking about it?" Ariadne snapped back, her unease suddenly overcome by aggravation. "I appreciate how idiotic it was to treat the situation as though I didn't need to be scared, but I can assure you that since then I've been nothing but terrified! I can appreciate that you'd rather not lose an Architect mid-job, at least not before I've provided you with a complete dream design, but you do realize that I do have some personal interest in not becoming the terminal resting place of a bullet?"

It had not been a fair, what she had said, and she damn well knew it; but she was upset to begin with, and she hated having Arthur angry with her, and as miserable as she had been, his anger made it so, _so_ much worse. Despite her best efforts to keep herself under control, Ariadne was shaking and trying very hard not to cry, and her hand was wrapped around her totem so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. It was not, she knew, a feeling of which God would approve, but the stunned look that graced Arthur's facial features gave Ariadne some grim satisfaction.

Much to Ariadne's surprise, Arthur reversed tactics on her. He pulled his Architect to him and wrapped his arms around her, and in complete defiance of Ariadne's previous understanding of anatomy, her heart seemed to have leapt into her throat. She was so taken aback that she nearly missed his next words; he spoke them so softly.

"I'm sorry for shouting."


	8. Chapter 8 Reaching a Summit

**Author's note: Salutations once again, my dear readers. I hope that, if you happen to be observing the holiday, that you are having a lovely Thanksgiving. For those who are not, I hope that you are having a lovely last Thursday of November. Regardless, I am thankful for you all! As always, I hope you enjoy the chapter, and if you do, then I invite you to review the story when you get to the end. (I am also thankful for reviews!) Funny thing for those who might be interested, I have chapter eleven all ready to go, I just need to fill in bits of chapters nine and ten. I think that this will end up at fourteen chapters, ultimately. Chapter fourteen is about three-quarters done. I warn you now, finals are almost upon me, so this every four days thing may not last, but I'm hoping to have everything done for Christmas! I may even keep the last chapter as a Christmas present. It's a really good one, I promise!**

**All my love,**

**BT**

Chapter Eight- Reaching the Summit

Ariadne spent the next two days in a world of her own, all while staying awake. A coffee pot had been requisitioned at her request, and by the second day, she seemed to those around her to be trying to consume her weight in caffeine as she laid the images in her head down on paper. Ariadne, for her part, hardly noticed the people around her. She was so focused on her project that she became irritable at any interruption.

When Arthur and Eames first tried to pull her away from her work to grab lunch, she waved them away, never looking up from her work. When they again tried to pull her away, this time for dinner, she surfaced long enough to snap, "Not now!" before she went back to her work.

When they returned from dinner, a plate of food was placed on the table at her elbow. Ariadne showed no outward sign of noticing the addition of food to her work table, but less than an hour later, the food was no longer there. It was nearly midnight when the Point Man and Extractor left the Architect to continue her work in solitude.

The next morning, when they came in before breakfast and found her still working, they exited again quietly, but once again, when they returned, another meal was placed on her work table. This delivery system would continue for the rest of the day.

Ariadne had been relieved to have something to throw herself into. The moment in which she had stood wrapped in Arthur's arms had been brief. He had very soon returned her to the mess hall and made sure that she ate a full meal with a hot drink. Later, it occurred to her that he had been concerned about shock, but by then she had recovered well from her harrowing experience at the caves. What she hadn't quite recovered from was Arthur's reaction, so she found an escape into her work turned out to be exactly what she needed.

Ariadne had saved herself a great deal of time by starting out with the outline of a maze that she had already designed and then tailoring it to what she needed. Included in the major additions to the preconceived maze were the passages throughout, each hidden by optical illusions. Her teammates had explained to her the need for extra precautionary measures that it was necessary to take for the one when dealing with a subject as unstably violent as the one whom they had to work with.

"This man is toeing the line for being clinically sadistic," Eames had said. "This is something that can result in dangerous behavior on the part of the subject's projections."

"Do mental issues often show up with the projections?" Ariadne had asked.

"Sometimes," Arthur had answered. "It depends on a lot of things, including the type of mental disorder and the severity of the disorder. For instance, for something like Asperger's or Attention Deficit Disorder, it would be very unlikely that you would notice much if you noticed anything at all. I'm not saying that it's impossible, just incredibly unlikely. Of course, it is possible that you might not notice anything with the sociopath or psychopath; the human mind is often very unpredictable. It's when you _do_ notice with the psychopath that things get frightening."

Ariadne had been left with a sufficient sense of alarm to spend a considerable amount of time working on short cuts and hiding places. By dinner time on her second straight day of work, she had been able to start in on constructing a model of the dream.

Ariadne sat up and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms.

"We were wondering how long you would last at the rate you were going. You know we don't have a deadline."

"I was getting a lot done," she yawned.

"That's the truth. You have half the model done. Do you think you'll be ready to give a tour by tomorrow morning? I believe our employers would like to see your work."

"I should be ready. I'll need to spend some time under to make sure everything looks right."

"Of course. Go get something to eat, and I'll go under with you when you get back. I'll be the Dreamer for the extraction."

"Oh?" she asked, getting to her feet and stretching.

"With only one level, the Extractor should be the Dreamer, leaving the Point Man free to run interference. If Arthur gets killed by projections, I won't be stuck in a collapsing dream in the middle of the extraction."

"Makes sense. I'm going to have to clean up before I come back if you don't mind waiting. What time is it?"

"Just after two."

Just before four, Ariadne returned, cleaner and well fed and ready to return to work. By eight, she had completed her models, and Eames had the PASIV devise prepped with Somnacin. Arthur had come in just before they went under, and as soon as Eames and Ariadne had inserted the needles into their veins, he set their timers, primed the machine, and pressed the button.

Eames and Ariadne opened their eyes in the middle of a market area filled with vibrant merchandise but deserted of people. Around them, Eames could see Ariadne's world unraveling around them as a large rug unrolling away. As they walked down the streets, he nodded with approval.

"It looks good."

"Thanks," Ariadne said absently as she focused on the dream around her, setting everything into place. He continued to walk by her in silence as she put together a world that she had spent the last two days seeing in her mind's eye. They moved out of the outskirts of the market into the foothills at the base of a small mountain. She lead him through the foothills, occasionally pausing to examine small hidden areas in the rock, crevasses large enough to hide two men. Eames watched the earth shift slightly under Ariadne's piercing gaze until they were almost impossible to make out from the surrounding area.

As they came closer to the mountain, the caves came into view. Eames followed her into the twisting catacombs that she had created until they reached the end of one pathway where an old fashioned safe stood in a nook in the cave wall.

Ariadne turned and looked up at Eames expectantly.

As they walked out of the cave and into the sunlight, Ariadne tried to look around her surreptitiously, but Eames noticed immediately.

"Still a dream," he told her.

Ariadne gave a peevish sigh and sat down on a boulder at the mouth of the cave. Eames sat down next to her.

"How are you doing, Ariadne? I mean, how are you really doing? Come on, you can tell your dear Uncle Eames."

Ariadne raised an eyebrow at him.

"Look, I know I'm no Yusuf with his four younger sisters; he's gotten a lot of practice at this whole "protective big brother" thing, but he's got more than his fair share to deal with, so you're stuck with me."

"And what makes you think I'm in need of an older brother?"

"You have one already?"

"No."

"Well, Yusuf seems to think that it's a basic necessity for a girl to have an older brother figure. Let's say I'm applying for the job."

"Oh, are you?" she asked skeptically. "Do you have any references?"

Eames grinned. "Oh, I'm good at references."

"Any that you didn't write for yourself?"

"Not so as you could tell."

Ariadne gave a snort of derision.

"Fair enough," he said, standing up and stretching. "Just wanted to let you know I was willing to chat if you wanted."

"Eames?"

He turned back and Ariadne hesitated.

"Yes?" he prompted. Ariadne, whatever she had been about to say, changed her mind.

"Thanks," she replied lamely.

"Don't mention it."

The next morning, Ariadne gave a tour of her finished dream to Col. Carpenter and the officers of the shared dreaming program. She pointed out the safety features that she had added, hidden by optical illusion, and spoke of the advantages the layout of the maze would have for the job at hand. Some of the expressions of admiration that passed the faces of the experienced shared dreamers gave Ariadne a strong sense of satisfaction. She was gratified by the appreciation of her work.

After the tour, she and Eames started in on the meticulous work of teaching and learning the layout in detail while Arthur was given an abbreviated course, only needing to know the basic outline. By the following morning, Arthur was sufficiently satisfied with their progress to schedule the extraction for the following evening.

When the time scheduled for the extraction rolled around, the extraction team was led to a detention unit by Capt. Spivey. They were shown into a small room where three cots were lined up with a table at their head. Arthur set the silver case on the table. One cot was already occupied by the man that Ariadne recognized immediately as their subject. Her stomach gave a small lurch at the sight of him, lying very still on the farthest cot from the door, sleeping the deep, peaceful sleep of the heavily drugged. It was almost hard for her to associate the unconscious man with cruelty and violence, and somehow that made him more frightening to Ariadne. Two MPs stood very close to him, very alert despite the lack of consciousness on the part of their charge, reinforcing Ariadne's sense of discomfort.

Ariadne, anxious to push her disturbing contemplations out of her mind, helped Eames and Arthur roll up the left sleeves of their dress shirts, swabbed their arms with disinfectant, and set each of the timers for all three of the leads. She tried to ignore her growing sense of nervousness as Arthur and Eames inserted the IVs. A doctor handled the sterilization and needle insertion for the subject. When Arthur gave her the signal, she triggered the PASIV device and watched her friends drift off to sleep.

Thus began what felt to Ariadne like the longest twelve minutes of her life. Ariadne almost immediately came to the conclusion that she didn't like not knowing what was going on, not knowing if something had gone wrong. She began to pace until she realized that she was doing so and stopped. She checked the machine, and then she checked on the dreamers. She repeated this when she felt herself tempted to pace. The MPs continued to stand at attention, silent and serious and very firmly not inclined to chat. As Arthur's timer approached the five minute mark, thirty seconds ahead of Eames's timer, Ariadne placed the headphones over Arthur's ears, picked up her mp3 player and found the song she needed. She watched the timer count down to the two minute mark and hit the play button. As soon as she pressed play, she began a silent mental countdown in her head. As she counted out the last two minutes, she slid a thumb into her pocket until she touched her totem.

When Arthur's eyes opened and he gave Ariadne a satisfied smile, she let out a breath that she hadn't realized that she had been holding. He removed the IV from his arm, and she handed him a little cotton swab to place on the tiny puncture mark. He held it in place as Ariadne fixed a bandage over it. When Eames's timer went off, she repeated the process. Eames gave her a wink and a smug half-smile as she placed a bandage on his arm.

"I take it that everything went well?"

"It was a cake walk," Eames said, taking up a pad of paper and a pen. He started to jot down notes while the information was fresh in his mind.

The doctor removed the IV from the subjects arm, and Ariadne took the leads and removed the needles, placing them in a sharps disposal box. As she wound the leads back into the device, the subject began to show signs of revival. The MPs were immediately on either side of the man. By the time Ariadne finished packing away the PASIV devise, he had come around. It was obvious that he was still feeling the effects of the sedation, but he still tried to struggle against his custodians, albeit lethargically. When he caught sight of Ariadne standing not three feet from him, he made an ineffectual lunge at her, but the MPs held him firmly as they pulled him from the room. His tone made a translation of his comments redundant. It wasn't hard to guess.

Eames presented a full typed report to the Colonel the very next morning. The file was eagerly received, and after a quick scan of the first couple of pages of the report, and by then end of the morning's conference, Ariadne was confident that they would definitely be called back in the event that such a job were to surface again.

Eames's estimation of payment for a basic extraction job had been pretty accurate when he had told her after the Fischer job what to expect. Despite being only a fraction as prosperous as her first job, Ariadne still felt the rush of disbelief that had came when she considered her income.

Their flight back to Europe was scheduled for late that evening, and Ariadne spent much of her remaining free time after she had packed up all of her things with Harper and the Davidson twins. The twins had taught the girls how to two-step which, they had informed her, was something that she should not have been able to leave Texas without learning. Ariadne, always willing to dance, was more than happy to learn. Around eight, Arthur and Eames came in to inform her that it was nearly time to leave, and after brief farewells, they collected their things, and by nine that night, their airplane was taxiing down the runway.

Ariadne had never been much good at sleeping on airplanes outside of the very few recent times that she had been able to fly first class where there had been room to stretch out. Nevertheless, after all of the time zone changes and the missed sleep she was exhausted enough that she managed to doze off occasionally. When they finally landed in Paris after their switch to commercial in Germany, Ariadne was thinking entirely of how nice her own soft bed would be.

She was distracted from these thoughts when, outside the airport, Arthur hailed a taxi and joined her in it. She looked over at him in bleary confusion.

"Are you staying in Paris?" she asked.

"No, my flight leaves in a couple of hours," he said. "My little sister, Toni, her birthday is on Halloween, and I promised I'd come visit, but you look done in, and I'd like to make sure you make it back all right."

Ariadne found herself unsure of how to respond, and all she could manage was mumbled thanks. It was a rather quiet taxi ride. Ariadne was too lost in thought and too tired to try to make conversation, and Arthur seemed perfectly content with the peaceful silence.

When they reached her apartment, Arthur helped her up the stairs with her luggage. He set her things down in her living room before turning to her.

"I'll be state side for a little while, but I should be able to come again, let's say, third weekend of November? I can see what you've worked on, and you can get some practice in."

Ariadne nodded mutely, suddenly feeling quite nervous. He looked down at her, concern showing.

"Are you all right?"

Ariadne forced a smile. "Yes, of course. I'm just wiped out."

He leaned in a closer to her and looked her squarely in the eye. It was all she could do to meet the gaze.

"I want you to call me if you need anything. I mean it, Ari. Real combat is not like dreams. It can affect you badly, and you don't always notice immediately."

"I'm fine, Arthur. Really."

"You promise to tell me if you think, even for a minute, that you might not be?"

"Yes, I will."

"Thank you. Now, go get some sleep. You look like you're about to fall over."

He stepped closer to her, and for a moment, she thought that he was going to wrap his arms around her, and she found that she wanted him too. He paused, and in the end, he patted her arm, said goodbye, and suddenly he was gone. She stood silent and motionless for a moment, staring in to space before finally sinking onto the couch with a groan and a loud curse.

Right then and there, Ariadne Gray gave up trying to convince herself that she was not in love with Arthur Hamilton.


	9. Chapter 9 Lost in Translation

**Author's Note: My darlings, I must apologize for the brevity of this chapter, but I'm afraid that it simply could not be helped. I simply found a natural ending to the chapter, and the beginning of the next chapter very much needs to be the beginning of a chapter. It just flows right. Now that I've made my excuses, however, I can tell you that the next chapter will be quite long indeed, which will hopefully make up for the lack of quantity of this one. Still, I hope that you enjoy this chapter such as it is. I believe it to be good.**

** For those of you who are keeping up with the thrilling narratives that go on in these notes from the author, this is sort of a transition chapter between the second and third acts in my little yarn. Stay tuned for the disclaimer…**

** Disclaimer: *Mumble, mumble*…not mine…*grumble, mumble*…Christopher Nolan…*peevish sigh.***

Chapter Nine – Lost in Translation

Ariadne had been right about one thing. Marie-Claude was furious. As soon as Ariadne mentioned Afghanistan, she became positively livid. Ariadne was almost more shell-shocked by the scathing anger of her roommate than she had been by the shootout in the Afghani foot hills. Marie-Claude didn't speak to her for two days. On the second day, the presents that Ariadne had brought back for her friend had been placed carefully on her roommate's bed in her absence. After that, peace and amicability returned to the Gray- Dubois household.

Nearly a week after the Ariadne had returned, she and Marie-Claude sat stretched out on Ariadne's bed with a laptop balanced between them playing a Korean television drama with French subtitles. The Korean romantic comedy episodes had become a traditional Monday night pastime for the young women, but this evening it was all Ariadne could do to remember to focus on the screen. Days had gone by without her breathing a word of her personal revelations to anyone, and it was beginning to think that she definitely needed to talk it out with someone. If she didn't, it might kill her.

Ariadne let her head slump onto her friend's shoulder and sighed deeply. "Marie-Claude, I have a problem."

"What is it, _ma cherie_?"

"I think I'm in love."

"Oh, Ari. Ari, Ari, _Ari_…" Marie-Claude patted Ariadne's arm on each repetition for emphasis. "I know you are."

Ariadne's head popped back up. "You do?" she asked sharply. "How?"

"You talk in your sleep."

Ariadne bolted upright. "I WHAT?"

Marie-Claude giggled. "Calm down. I was kidding."

Ariadne sagged with relief.

"But you do talk to yourself out loud when you think no one else is in the home. I believe it was the phrase 'Shit, I'm in love with him' that gave me the clue."

Ariadne groaned and flopped back down next to Marie-Claude. She pulled a pillow over her face and tried to smother herself with it. Her muffled voice came through the pillow. "What am I going to do?"

"Do you know if he loves you back? Never mind, don't answer that. You are oblivious and wouldn't be able to tell."

Ariadne pulled the pillow from her face and glared. "That's not true!"

"Oh, yes? And can you tell me what he feels for you?"

"Umm… He can be a little hard to read sometimes. He's sort of stoic."

"What am I going to do with you?"

"End my suffering."

"What! And end my constant source of entertainment?" Marie-Claude crowed. "Never!"

"Well, then, I will simply have to go on gracing the world with my presence," Ariadne declared haughtily.

"When do you see him again?" Marie-Claude asked curiously

"In a little under than three weeks, I believe," Ariadne said. There was no disguising her excitement.

"I wish you to bring him over. I will make dinner."

"You will?" Ariadne asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Of course. I wish to meet him."

"You do?"

"I want to see him to be sure he is good for you."

"Oh dear."

Ariadne sat in her class late on Thursday morning before Arthur's expected arrival, anxiously looking forward to her time with Miles later that afternoon, hoping very much that they would be joined by Arthur as they had been on his last visit. He had not said exactly what time he would be coming, but she did hope that she would see him.

Truth be told, she was only half listening to the lecture, so when her cell phone began to vibrate in the front pocket of her backpack, she jumped in surprise before she scrambled to snatch it out of her bag and hit a tiny button on the side to make it stop. She glanced around at her classmates, only a handful of whom had turned at the sound, but all had turned back to the lecture. Miles had looked up to where she sat just briefly, never pausing in his lecture, far too used to the occasional interruption made by a student's cell going off during class to really take much notice.

Ariadne surreptitiously flipped open the cell and felt a slight thrill when she found it had been a text from Arthur. Her heart gave a little leap when she saw the sender, but it immediately plummeted when she read the text.

_Something has come up. I won't be coming. I'll be in touch soon. –Arthur._

Ariadne felt her stomach clinch as the ache of disappointment hit her. She had been so anxious, so nervous about his coming, but she had been looking forward to it. Ariadne felt the sudden let-down acutely. She had indulged in all sorts of silly things like worrying about what to wear and trying to figure out how to behave, but now that it didn't matter, she felt so foolish. It was all so childish, so abominably juvenile, like a teenager with a crush! She was embarrassed and furious with herself for being so ridiculous. She was supposed to be a professional, and the man was not a classmate, he was her associate!

Too her horror, Ariadne could feel tears beginning to well up in her eyes, but she blinked them back furiously. It was probably a good thing that he wasn't coming, Ariadne tried to tell herself as she worked to get a hold of herself. She very well could have been ready to make a great fool of herself. She sat very still, looking fixedly at her notes, willing herself to pull it together.

Around her, classmates had begun to pack their things and file out of the room as class came to an end. Ariadne gave a few automatic adieus as a couple friends said a few parting words to her, but she remained in her seat, not really taking notice of the emptying of the room.

After a moment, when the last student had gone, Miles made his way up the steps until his eyes became about level with hers although she did not look up.

"Ariadne?"

She tried to give him a smile, but it was strained at best. "Hello, Miles."

"Are we to expect Arthur today?"

"No, he sent me a text. He can't make it," she tried to sound unconcerned, but her voice cracked.

"Was that when your phone went off during class?" he asked.

"I am sorry about that," she apologized quickly, but he waved it away.

"Not important," he said in a calm tone. I was just wondering why you should be so distressed by it."

"Oh, it's not important," she said. "I'm fine really, just a bit disappointed." She again tried to smile. Instead, one traitor tear escaped and slid down her cheek, but she brushed it away quickly.

Miles came and sat down next to her.

"Ariadne, did something happen between you and Mr. Hamilton in Afghanistan?"

"What?" she exclaimed. "What do you mean?"

I wanted to know if there was an understanding between Arthur and yourself, to use an old-fashioned term."

"No, of course not," she mumbled quickly.

"No, of course not," he repeated. "But perhaps you wish there were?"

Ariadne looked up at him in astonishment, and Miles chuckled softly at her look of confusion.

"Come now, my dear, please remember that I was a father to a young woman who had, on some occasions in her life, fallen in love," he said with a grin. "You and Mal may not have terribly similar personalities, but I should say you have enough in common that I may discern some things."

Ariadne's shoulders sagged as she gave up her struggle against the tears. Miles handed her his handkerchief and gave her a moment to have a bit of a cry.

It didn't last long; all she had needed, he knew, was a chance to unwind a bit, and sometimes that meant shedding a few tears. As she mopped up the last of her tears, he spoke again.

"When Mal was maybe one or two years older than you are now, I found her having a good cry because she thought the young man she was so fond of didn't like her much. She had tried so hard to be nice to him, and he kept being very formal to her, not exactly unkind, but he was never more than polite. She was quite disheartened."

"And what did you tell her that you will now tell me?" Ariadne asked, regaining some humor.

"You needn't be so cheeky, my girl," he chided. "There were no pearls of wisdom. I just told her to keep her chin up and not to let it get her too down if things did not work out. It isn't great advice, I know. It is not easy for anyone to feel that their love is not returned; it is difficult not to take it rather hard, but being a parent doesn't mean you always have the answers. Sometimes the best one can do is lend a sympathetic ear."

"What happened with the young man?"

"Well, the young man in question was working for me at the time. It turned out that he was rather worried that I would take offense if I thought he was too forward with my daughter."

"Was he fond of her too, then?"

"I should certainly hope so, seeing as they eventually married and had two children! He had better have been fond of her!"

Ariadne was somewhat taken aback by the thought of Mal ever being in doubt of Cobb's affection. Somehow, the way Miles had spoken about Mal made her into a real woman rather than the nightmarish shade that she had known.

"I wish I had known her in real life," she said regretfully.

"Outside of Dom's head, you mean?"

Ariadne shifted uncomfortably. "I'm afraid that it wasn't an ideal introduction. The first time I saw her in Cobb's head, I was changing the dream too much, and Mal ran me through with a knife. It scared me senseless, and it was before I understood that the projections were not the people they looked like."

Miles gave her a pat on the back. "I believe she would have been fond of you. She was always rather eager to make friends," Miles said with a hint of sadness in his smile. After a moment of silence, he continued. "Now, my dear, let us go get you a nice strong cup of tea and something to eat, and then you will feel better."


	10. Chapter 10 Dancing with The Devil

**Author's Note: All right, my darlings, I know that things were a bit brief in the last chapter, but I think that we can all agree that I'm rather making up for it in this one. I just stayed up half the night putting on the finishing touches, if you think this one is long, hold onto your hats because when I've finished filling in the gaps and run it by the beta reader, chapter eleven is going to be a doozy. **

**Now, I understand that even when one likes a story, one often fails to review it, and I don't want you to think I'm complaining, but I'm getting reviewed by less than 2% of my views, and granted, as far as I know, that might be par for the course , but it does cause a girl to worry a bit. You are enjoying it so far, right guys? Right? ...*Cue cricket chirping***

**Anyway... So, if you wouldn't mind hitting the little review button at the bottom of the page and just typing "yes" (or "no", if that happens to be the way you feel about it), I'd really appreciate it. If you elaborate on the "yes" (or "no"), it would please me to know end. (But don't think I won't love you anymore if you don't want to. I still do.) To those who have reviewed, I want to thank you lots and lots. I read the rev****i****ews whenever I want cheering up, and it always makes me feel good. I am pleased to inform you that some of the things that you wondered about or mentioned wanting to see happen to be things that address in this paticular chapter. I've had a lot of this chapter completed for quite a while now, so I'm excited to finally be able to post it! **

**Love to all my readers,**

**-BT**

**Disclaimer: Christopher Nolan owns this, and not me, but I'm going to ask Santa to give it to me for Christmas.**

Chapter Ten – Dancing With the Devil

It was early Friday morning when Eloise unlocked the door to the dance school for Ariadne. Eloise Black, née Lacroix, was a young, golden-haired French woman, and two weeks previous, she had found herself with a broken foot. It was for this reason that, just before eight in the morning on a frigid day in late November, a bleary-eyed Ariadne had shown up at the studio, her curls pinned into a low chignon, wearing the simple burgundy dress her under her heavy coat. Eloise had lent her the dress. It was long, it twirled gracefully with the slightest turn, and it was a completely inappropriate dress for the temperature outside, but as a dress to practice ballroom dancing in, it was ideal. For the fourth time in two weeks, that's exactly what Ariadne did, for Eloise's broken foot had left a ballroom dance team temporarily short one partner with an exhibition performance less than two months away.

Eloise had known Ariadne Gray for many years. Her husband had grown up with her, and Eloise taught her ballet classes. She had also known that during this past semester, Ariadne had found herself with copious amounts of free time. It had not taken much pressure to convince her to help out, and things had gone very well so far. Ariadne was picking up the routine quickly, she was intelligent in her movements, and she was a strong enough dancer to execute the more difficult moves well. By the end of their last practice, Ariadne had the individual steps down pat.

On this day, however, after trying to put the entire dance together, they had found a snag, and Eloise was getting frustrated. It was well into the second hour of their practice, and Eloise was standing, supported by a pair of crutches, in the doorway to the dance studio watching yet another attempt at getting through the dance when she heard the front door to the dance school open.

Eloise turned at the sound of footsteps and found a neatly and, if she were any judge, an expensively dressed young man approaching her. As he came closer to the light, she could also see serious dark eyes in a smooth, handsome face, and she saw them flicker past her to the two dancers in the well lit studio. In that brief glance, she saw both recognition and surprise as he took in the performance of a dance that could easily be described, with a healthy dose of understatement, as suggestive. While in the studio the smoky acoustic tango in E minor played loudly, here it the hallway the sound was muffled enough that she could hear him clearly even though he did not speak loudly.

"_Bonjour, mademoiselle_," he said with an accent that she guessed to be either American or Canadian.

"Hello," she responded, in English. "How can I help you?"

"I don't mean to intrude. My name is Arthur Hamilton, and I am here to see Ariadne although I'm afraid that she's not expecting me." Again, the eyes flickered briefly to the dancers.

"Ah, well, do me a favor and don't distract her just yet. She's still a little busy," she said, tilting her head toward the tangoing couple.

He nodded, carefully staying in the shadows of the dark corridor. "They look very intimate," he commented in a decidedly neutral tone. She smiled without mirth.

"God, if only," she replied sardonically.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"They have the steps down fine, but-" she was interrupted by a peal of laughter from the studio, and they looked up to see Ariadne giggling, and her partner was turning red from the effort trying not to laugh. Eloise gave Arthur a pained look and hobbled into the mirrored room. She turned off the music on the sound system before limping over to her uncooperative students.

"I swear," she snapped when she got to them, "I will not let the two of you leave this room until you get through this entire dance without all of this silliness. Ariadne, what is the matter with you?"

Ariadne composed herself before looking up at Eloise. "I'm sorry Ellie," she said abashed. She mopped the beading sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist.

"What in the name of God is so hard about getting through one dance?"

"Come on, Eloise!" she cried defensively. "It's _Geoffrey_!

"Hey!"

"No offense, Geoffrey."

"And what is wrong with dancing with Geoffrey?"

"You mean outside of making me feel like a home-wrecker?" Ariadne said with incredulity.

"Ariadne, this is the tango. It is all about the darkest parts of love. It is the dance of home-wreckers."

"And exactly how many home-wreckers seduce the husband while the wife looks on critiquing their footwork?"

"This is your hang up?"

"That, and the fact that my most prominent memory of Geoffrey is of him eating live worms to scare me when he was twelve." Eloise was momentarily put off by this previously undiscovered information about her husband.

"Did it work?"

"Are you kidding? It was disgusting! I didn't talk to him for a month."

Eloise looked at her husband aghast. He shrugged.

"Okay," Eloise said, taking a deep breath. "Here's what we are going to do. We are going to dim the lights, and you, Ariadne, are not to make eye contact. For the next four minutes and forty-five seconds of music, this" –she put a hand on her husband's arm- "is _not_ Geoffrey. This… this is a tall, dark mysterious man that you find a little dangerous, but incredibly attractive. You are not dancing with Geoffrey, but the man of your dreams."

This comment made Ariadne look up sharply.

"What's wrong?" Eloise asked.

"It's just… nothing. It's nothing."

"Good, as long as you remember: Not Geoffrey. Also, God gave women hips for a reason. Let's see you actually use them!"

Ariadne nodded and stretched out her arms and neck before turning back to her dance partner. Eloise hobbled back toward the door and flipped a switch next to the doorway. Instantly, half of the lights in the room turned off. Ariadne stood just to one side of Geoffrey, stretched one leg out behind her and placed a hand on his shoulder. He placed a hand on her waist, and they remained motionless, waiting for the music to start.

The first few notes of guitar played, and, with a few caressing movements, the two had moved into position, and, when the soft drum beat in the sultry music began, they stepped off into a basic tango step. The dance did not stay basic for long, however. The steps soon became more complicated, and Ariadne began to perform a few quick turns before returning to the close embrace of her partner. She danced with her eyes half closed, and she gave Eloise the impression that mentally, she was very far away.

"He is your husband?" Arthur asked her when she had returned to her position just inside the doorway.

"Yes, and usually my partner for this, but as you can see…" She nodded at her plaster-encased foot. "Car accident," she said by way of explanation.

"And this doesn't bother you," he said as they watched Ariadne entwine her leg around Geoffrey and arch her body into his.

"Not at all. I trust Geoffrey implicitly, and, of course, Ariadne would cut off her own arm with a rusty saw before she would try to entice another woman's husband." She was very tempted to ask him if it bothered him, but she restrained herself. There was no point in asking questions that she already knew the answers to. She returned her attention back to the dance.

Ariadne dropped into a split and was then pulled up into a lift. The movements became faster as the tempo sped up as the song approached the ending. It had been the best performance the two had given all morning, and then, mid-turn, Ariadne glanced at the doorway where Eloise and Arthur stood. Eloise saw the look of surprise cross her features before the turn took her face from view.

Eloise knew of the careless cruelties of fate and recognized it in Ariadne's next footfall when the heel of her shoe failed to find purchase on the wood floor, causing her ankle to roll. Ariadne fell forward, missing Geoffrey's outstretched arm by inches and hit the ground with a thud.

There was a general rush for the fallen girl, and, at first, when Eloise reached her, Ariadne's flushed face and drawn in posture made Eloise fear that she was really hurt. It was only a moment though before she realized that Ariadne was less hurt than she was acutely embarrassed, and her complete inability to look Arthur Hamilton in the eye told Eloise all she needed to know.

"Are you hurt at all?" she asked as the last strains of the music died away and both young men helped her off the floor.

"No, I'm fine. Really, guys," she stammered, trying to extricate herself from the hands of her rescuers.

"Just your pride, I think, poor darling." When Ariadne struggled to come up with any kind of response, Eloise took pity on her. "You do, however, look overheated. Go grab a drink of water, and if you need to, step outside for a minute. Heaven knows that it is cold enough outside."

Ariadne shot her a grateful look before murmuring an excuse and ducking out into the dark hallway. There was a moment of silence before Eloise remembered herself.

"Mr. Hamilton, my husband, Geoffrey Black," she said promptly. "_Mon cher__í_, this is Arthur Hamilton. He is here to see Ari." As she had hoped, Geoff had picked up on the words that she had not spoken out loud in the traditional silent communication of married couples.

"A pleasure to meet you," Geoffrey said brightly in his slight Irish accent, shaking his hand warmly. "How do you know our Ariadne?" He nonchalantly slipped his hand around his wife's hand.

"We work together," Arthur replied, as though he felt the statement did not quite accurately define their relationship.

"Oh, how nice! You must spend a lot of time together. Are you an architect as well, then?"

"Arthur is in public relations," Ariadne said quickly, coming back into the room.

Eloise was impressed. Considering the brevity of her absence, Ariadne had regained her composure very well, but Eloise could tell that she was anything but relaxed.

"You dance very well," Arthur said greeting her. This statement alone seemed to threaten to discompose her again, but she rallied well.

"Thank you," she said a little breathlessly. "It's nice to see you, but how did you know I would be here?"

"Your cell phone is off, so I called your apartment, and your roommate said that you were at dancing lessons."

"Ah, and you've arrived just in time to see me represent my teachers badly. I am sorry, Geoffrey."

"We nearly had it that time. We could try it again if you're up to it."

"I think that you've both done enough for today. You've been at this for two hours now, after all," Eloise interjected. "I'm just glad that you made it through without laughing at each other. You'd better get all of your laughing out now, because if either of you starts giggling during the exhibition in January, I will kill you both."

"Yes, my love," Geoffrey said meekly.

Eloise gave him a hard look. "Come on, darling. It's time for us to go. I think I need to hear about this thing with the worms. _Au revoir_, Ariadne." She kissed Ariadne on both cheeks. "Lock up for me, please. Mr. Hamilton, it was very nice to meet you."

When the Blacks made what seemed to Ariadne to be an unnecessarily hasty exit, Ariadne was left without any idea as to what she should say next. Fortunately, Arthur spoke as soon as they were alone.

"I'm sorry about showing up unannounced, but I needed to get a hold of you as soon as possible."

"What's up?" Ariadne asked, suddenly worried.

"We have a job," Arthur said.

Ariadne brightened immediately. "That's wonderful."

"That's why I couldn't come last week. I had just been contacted about it, and I needed to look into it. I'm sorry about that, by the way."

"Are we leaving today?" she asked hopefully.

"If you can."

"Happily, but you have to do me a favor."

"What can I do for you?"

"My cell phone is not off but dead. If you could tell Miles that I'll be going, I'd very much appreciate it. I need to go get cleaned up and pack for the trip." She picked up her purse and coat from where they hung over the bar that ran along the mirrored wall.

"I'd be happy to tell Miles for you. It will give him a chance to grill me on what I'm getting you into," he said, helping her on with her coat.

When they left the dance school, Ariadne locked the door behind them.

Later, after he had gone to see Miles, Arthur scaled to the three flights of stairs to Ariadne's apartment, and, as she said it would be, the door to her flat was unlocked. When he opened the door, he could tell hear her voice, along with another, coming from what he assumed was a bedroom in the corridor to the right.

"So you are going to up and leave for an uncertain amount of time a mere three days before your one and only final, and Professor Miles is just fine with this?" asked a very skeptical young woman in slightly French accented English.

"He was the one who recommended me for this job in the first place," Ariadne said with amusement. "I should hope that he is fine with it."

"And this is the same job that you disappeared for in the middle of October for a week and a half without telling me where you were going only to return with that green outfit for me that, it turns out, you bought in an Afghani market place?"

"It's adorable on you, Marie-Claude. That sage color completely matches your eyes."

"That is not my point!"

"Would you stop worrying? You act as though I've just decided on a whim to go explore the Arctic Circle."

"For all you have told me, you could be, and I would not know it. You will bring me next a necklace of polar bear teeth and say you killed it yourself?"

"Don't be silly," said Ariadne dismissively. "Polar bears are endangered. I would never kill one."

Arthur, feeling only slightly bad about eavesdropping, decided to make his presence known.

"Ariadne?" he called, letting his tone imply that he was unsure of her location.

"I'm back here!" she called back. "Second door on the left." He opened the door to her room and was immediately caught in the calculating stare of a pretty, slender French girl with long ash brown hair tied back with a ribbon. One of her eyebrows twitched vertically a fraction of an inch as she gave him a quick up-and-down, but she swiftly reassumed the frosty aloofness of an iceberg. She stood over Ariadne, who sat at a vanity to the right of the door as her friend pinned her long, thick hair up in a wreath of braids around the crown of her head. Sitting on the bed lay an open suitcase that was half full of clothing.

"This is my dear friend and roommate, Marie-Claude," Ariadne declared, not turning her head. "This is Arthur. He is part of the team that I work with." The girl on the bed continued to eye him with mistrust.

"_Bonjour, mademoiselle_," he said politely. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance." This really did not seem to help.

He shifted his gaze from the young woman to the framed pictures on the vanity next to his right. It was of Ariadne and the intimidating Marie-Claude, posing en point on a stage in ballet costume with filmy white skirts that reached their knees, both smiling broadly.

The next frame held a picture of a soberly dressed older woman and a younger Ariadne, maybe ten years old, holding her hand.

"That's my grandmamma," Ariadne said. He looked up and realized that she was watching him examine the picture. "She raised me, after my mother died."

Marie-Claude placed one last pin into Ariadne's hair before stepping back so that Ariadne could stand up. Ariadne made her way over to a dresser on the other side of the vanity. Ariadne closed the drawer after she'd plucked several pieces of clothing out of and tossed them into the bag. "I'm almost done. When is our flight?"

"Not until four, there is no rush. We'll meet Yusuf and Eames when we land in the U.S. Could I treat you both to lunch?" Marie-Claude stood up from her seat on the bed, picked up her book bag, and headed for the door.

"I have to go to class. You," she pointed at Arthur just before she passed, "had just better make sure that she comes back safely, and if I have found out that you have not been a perfect gentleman, I will…"

She was cut off by Ariadne, who had thrown a pillow at the girl.

"Oh, cut it out and go to class," Ariadne snapped at her, "or I won't bring you back anything this time." Marie-Claude ducked around Arthur, and after a moment, they heard the door to the apartment close. "Sorry," Ariadne looked sheepish as she slid a small laptop into a side pocket of the suitcase and dropped the power cord in with the clothing. "I think I've started to worry her a bit. Pass me the make-up bag just next to you, next to the ballet photo."

He picked up the light green pouch. "The offer for lunch is still open," he said, handing it to her.

She fitted it amongst the various articles of clothing and other miscellaneous items and zipped everything up before setting the suitcase on the floor. "I will take you up on it. I'm absolutely starving."

Arthur pulled a sleek new cell phone from his pocket. "This is for you. If something happens and we need to get in touch with you, I want you to have a working one.

Ariande took the cell from his hand an turned it on. "Thanks, it was very thoughtful of you." Ariadne gave him a quick, embarrassed smile before she slipped the phone into her purse.

She fished a pair of heeled black leather boots out from under her bed and pulled them over her stockinged feet. She wrapped a crème colored scarf around her neck before hoisting on a heavy tweed coat that she cinched in around her waist with a belt. She checked her for her passport in her purse one last time before throwing it over her shoulder and turned back to Arthur with an air of finality.

"All set," she declared, wiggling her fingers into the leather gloves that she had just taken from her coat pocket. "Lead the way."

Arthur took Ariadne to a lovely restaurant, not far from her apartment. Not long after they had been sat at a small table tucked in a quiet corner, wine and food appeared with quick efficiency. It was delicious, and Arthur was pleased to see Ariadne enjoy the meal.

Arthur had convinced Ariadne to tell him about the time that Geoffrey had eaten worms.

"I had just come to live with my Grandmother in France just shy of my tenth birthday. My grandmother met my grandfather, an American G.I. during the Second World War, during the liberation of France when he saved her life. It was very romantic; I made her tell me the story many times. Anyway, when they married, he took her back to Texas, and when he died, she moved back to France. When I came, I didn't know much French and Geoffrey, whose father was Irish, was the only person that I met who was a native English speaker. During my first week of school, he tried to convince me that people France ate live worms as a snack, and to prove it, he and another boy ate them. I went crying to my grandmother, and those boys got into so much trouble. Geoffrey's mother was so furious that it became Geoffrey's job to help me learn French and all about French culture."

"What happened to your mother?" Arthur asked.

"What?" she looked up, startled by the question.

"Earlier, you said that your grandmother raised you after your mother died. I just wondered how she died."

"Ah," she said quietly, putting down her fork and put her napkin to her mouth.

He suddenly felt the tactlessness of the question. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"No, it's all right," she said, trying to be reassuring. "I just hadn't really thought about it in a while." She took a sip of her wine before continuing in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. "Just after my mother died, not long before I turned ten, I asked my grandmother how she died, and she told me that my mother had died of a broken heart."

Arthur's eyebrows knit together. "I take it that was not the conclusion on the coroner's report?"

"Definitely not, but for a long time afterward, I seriously believed that one could actually die from having their heart broken. It terrified me." She smiled humorlessly at the memory of this childhood terror. "It only got worse when I heard someone say that people could be at risk for the same things that their parents died of, and, for a little while, I was truly convinced that I was going to die of a broken heart. When I finally confessed this fear to my Grandmamma, she told me the more medically accurate version."

"What really happened?"

"Well, in a way, the first explination was accurate, but the medical report says 'Acute Alcohol Intoxication."

"Alcohol poisoning? What does that have to do with…?"

"I should really start at the beginning, when I was seven, and my father left us," Ariadne explained.

"Oh. I see."

"With his secretary."

"And that draws me a picture."

"His pregnant secretary.

"And that colors it in," he said quietly.

She nodded slowly. "Of course, when I was seven, that particular detail hadn't really meant anything to me, but I have since pieced many things together that I didn't understand at the time. Before that time, my mother was simply amazing. She was beautiful and clever, and she was so imaginative. I think she liked to play pretend as much as I did; I remember playing with her for hours. And, she was absolutely devoted to my dad. And then, one night I woke up to shouting, and I crawled down the stairs until I could peek into the living room through the banister rails without being seen. My mom and dad were there with this woman, and there was crying and shouting, and then they - my dad and the woman- left. My mother was still crying when I crept back up stairs. I think that was really the last time that I saw my mom."

Ariadne spoke in the far off voice of someone who is completely lost in a memory, watching a private replay of events from which they cannot tear away their gaze. "It was days before she left her room. It wasn't until ater that the drinking started, and that's when things got very bad. Before then, it was like there was nothing left in her; she walked around as though she were a ghost, if she ever got up at all. With the alcohol, she became someone else, something else entirely. She frightened me so badly, and I didn't know what to do. It was so…" She trailed off awkwardly, and fear welled up in her eyes at the recollection. Arthur saw her grip the table so hard that her knuckles turned white.

Arthur reached over, and, taking her hands from the edge of the table, he spoke in a firm and clear voice. "Ariadne, look at me." Her eyes flickered up to his. "I want you to think of a time that you liked or enjoyed, something that it makes you feel good to remember, preferably within the past year."

Ariadne looked up at him feeling very far away for a second before the memory of his words '_Quick, give me a kiss'_ came completely unbidden to her mind, and then an excited thrill went through her, just as if it had in the hotel lobby of the inception dream. She flushed pink and broke eye contact in embarrassment. He took his hands from hers.

"I feel odd," she said uncomfortably. She felt as though she were waking up despite the fact that she hadn't been asleep. The sensation was disorienting.

"I'm sorry, Ariadne," he said gently. "I'm afraid that was my fault."

"What was?"

"Your reaction. To the memory, I mean. I should have prepared you properly."

"I don't understand."

"Dreaming is a way for the brain to organize and strengthen memory, and for professional dreamers who spend considerably more time in dreams, this effect can be greatly enhanced. Recollections become sharper, more vivid, and the emotional recall can potentially be much, much stronger. I'm afraid that I failed to prepare you for an emotional onslaught from memories that you would formerly have been able to recall with a degree of detachment. They can sometimes be very consuming. I also failed to consider the extreme degree of personal pain involved for you in the events that lead to the loss of your mother. You felt the fear of a small child in a situation that could scare many adults, just as though it was still happening. I am so sorry, Ariadne."

"I'm all right," she said, pressing her palms to her eyes and taking a deep breath. "How should I be prepared for that?"

"Just knowing that it might happen will help. You often need to be trying to recall a memory clearly for it to happen, although not necessarily, and fortunately, it can work for good memories too. It can be nice to relive the emotions of good memories, and a strong good memory can help clear you of the feelings that come with recalling bad ones."

"You said to think of a memory in the past year. Why?"

"More recent memories tend to be stronger," he said simply. "Can I ask what your good memory was?"

"My goddaughter," Ariadne lied shamelessly. Anyway, she thought, the baby was a good memory.

"You are a godmother?" he asked in surprise.

"You seem so shocked! I will have you know that I am not only a godmother, but the best of godmothers. Occasionally, I take little Celeste for the day, spoil her rotten, and then, I give her back to her mama and papa."

"You would have a picture, I presume?"

Ariadne, looking very pleased to be asked, slid the little photograph out of her wallet and handing it to Arthur. It was a picture of Ariadne sitting on her bed looking down at a little baby lying on the bed facing her. Ariadne was gazing down at the tiny child with an adoring smile as the baby laughed.

"I can see why that memory worked so well. Whose baby is she?"

Ariadne laughed. "She's Geoffrey and Ellie's baby, and she will be eighteen months old tomorrow."

Arthur handed her back the picture as a waiter returned to the table with the check.

Arthur and Ariadne were seated next to each other in the first class cabin for their flight across the Atlantic to the large city in the Northeastern corner of the United States where they had their new job.

When they landed in the United States, Eames met them and drove them to the lodgings that they had taken for the job. It was a hotel suite with four bedrooms each with private bathrooms, a living area, and a kitchenette. Yusuf greeted Arthur with a handshake and Ariadne with a hug, and spoke with them briefly, having not seen them in person for many months, before they put their things away.

Yusuf and Eames had already moved into their rooms, and Arthur and Ariadne took the two remaining. Ariadne, who was still running on Paris time, was very tempted to collapse onto her bed without even bothering to take off her shoes, but she resisted, and after putting away her clothing and placing her toiletries in the bathroom, she rejoined the others in the living room.

She sat between Eames and Yusuf on the sofa, and Arthur, who had just returned from his room, took one of the free chairs.

"So who are we working for?" Eames asked.

"We're working for the Shaw Financial Company, a fairly new financial company that has done very well despite the recent problems with the economy."

"And who are they concerned about?"

"As I understand, it is an internal problem that they are concerned about. We have a meeting Monday morning with the company's CEO and owner, Augustus Shaw. We should get more details about the subject and the information that we are being asked to extract at that time."

"What do you know about the company?" Eames asked.

Ariadne leaned her head back on the back of the sofa and closed her eyes as Arthur went over what had turned up in his research about the company and its CEO and Eames and Yusuf asked questions. She had meant to pay attention to the discussion, but she found herself woken up by Eames.

"Go to bed, Ari," he said. "We can discuss this in the morning."

"No, I'm fine. I hardly need to be sent off to bed," she insisted, sitting up straight and then ruining the effect by yawning.

"Ari, it's coming on four in the morning for Paris," Eames said. "You are allowed to be tired, and you should definitely sleep now if you plan to work through the night like you did last time."

Ariadne gave in, wished everyone goodnight, and left to turn in.

On Monday morning, Ariadne awoke to darkness. The glowing red numbers of the alarm clock on her nightstand told her that it was not quite five in the morning. Despite this, she felt wide awake as she was still trying to adjust to the time change. She hoped out of the bed, and made her way into the bathroom for a nice long bath.

After she cleaned up, she pulled her hair up into a fair approximation of the wreath of braids that Marie-Claude done for her, although it had taken her a couple of tries before she managed it. She dressed in a black skirt that hugged her hips and flared out at the knees and dress shirt that she had pressed the day before in preparation for the morning's business meeting, and then she made her way to the kitchenette. Ariadne found that by the time she had made it to the kitchenette by six-thirty, she was the last of her teammates to make it to breakfast, although Eames had not yet dressed for work. The cupboards had been stocked over the weekend, and as Ariadne sat down at the table, Yusuf passed her a mug of coffee.

By the nine in the morning, the team had arrived in at the office building of Shaw Financial Co. Ariadne, sitting in the front passenger seat, had listened to Arthur describe the head to the company on the way over. Augustus Shaw, while being astute in financial matters, was better known for his philanthropy. He travelled the globe to impoverished countries, setting up all sorts of charities, especially in overcrowded, urban areas.

They finally came upon a building tucked into a forested plot of land that was blanketed with snow. They pulled into a visitor parking space and entered into the lobby.

At the receptionist's desk they were directed to the elevators and then the fourth floor. After exiting the elevators, they found another receptionist desk where they were invited to leave their coats, and then directed to Mr. Shaw's office.

They entered through the door indicated to them by the receptionist, and they were greeted by a smiling secretary at the desk just inside the door. She stood and knocked on the door opposite the one they had just come in. She opened the door and stepped in.

"Mr. Shaw, Mr. Hamilton and his associates are here." She stood back to allow them to walk before closing the door behind them.

"Mr. Hamilton, it is good to see you again."

Augustus Shaw came around from behind his desk and extended a hand to Arthur. He was a grandfatherly man with a white beard, and he struck Ariadne as being very personable. When he turned to be introduced to her, he flashed a bright smile.

"Miss Gray, it is quite a pleasure. I am always pleased to meet any one as lovely as yourself, but I also understand that despite your youth, you are one of the leading talents in your field. I'm pleased to have you working for me."

Ariadne found herself more uneasy at the implication that she was seemed so young than she normally would have been. It was one thing to have Eames mistake her for younger than she was, but she didn't like the idea that a client was going to act as though she were a precocious teenager pretending to be an adult.

Shaw seemed to pick up on the unfavorable impression that his words had on her.

"Oh, you will have to forgive me for that last statement. It was undiplomatic, but when you reach my age, my dear, everyone seems so young."

Ariadne smiled, finding it easy to forgive the unintended slight.

Shaw moved on to Yusuf and then Eames, shaking each of their hands hartily before moving back to his desk and gesturing to four chairs that faced the desk. Ariadne took her seat in the far right chair next to Arthur.

"What is it that you would like us to do for you, Mr. Shaw?" Arthur asked, getting right down to business. Mr. Shaw gave him an appraising look before answering.

"I have an employee, Mr. Hamilton, who I would like to know a little more about." When Arthur waited for him to continue, he did. "Mr. Neal Vimes came to us in September, and since then I have begun to question his loyalty to the company."

"And dismissing him isn't an option?" Eames asked.

"In point of fact, he hasn't really done anything wrong, at least, nothing of which I am aware, and he is an excellent employee."

"Then why doubt his loyalty?" Arthur asked.

"It has been small things. Sometimes he is found in places that he has no business to be in. Sometimes I feel that he shows too much interest in files or accounts that do not concern him."

"You are worried that he is sharing information with outside parties?"

"Precisely. I don't want to let him go if I am wrong, and I hope I am, but it would put my mind at ease to know one way or the other."

"I see no reason why we couldn't find out exactly where his loyalties lie," Arthur said. "We will need some information from you about Mr. Vimes. Any background information that you can get would be appreciated."

"For all details, I will be referring you to Mr. Pratt." Shaw pressed a button on his desk. "Send in Mr. Pratt, please Madison."

The door to the office opened again, and a man walked in.

"This is Mr. Edward Pratt. He is part of my security staff."

To Ariadne, the man did not strike her as one likely to work in security. He was pale, lanky, and seemed less than confident in his stance, especially next to the tall and rather boisterous Augustus Shaw. Ariadne found herself almost feeling sorry for the young man.

"He will be my liaison for this project. Anything you need, he will be able to help you."

The man gave a polite nod, further impressing upon Ariadne the suspicion that he was a quiet individual.

"Very well. We will send you with an outline of the information that we will require, and we can meet tomorrow to discuss it at whatever time is convenient for you," Arthur suggested.

Pratt nodded, and Shaw seemed pleased.

"Splendid," Shaw said, rising to his feet. "I am so glad that we have come to an arrangement. I take it that the fee that we discussed is acceptable for the job?"

"Perfectly acceptable," Arthur confirmed, also standing up.

"Excellent. Actually, there is just one more minor matter," Shaw said just before they turned to go. "I would like Mr. Pratt to accompany you during the extraction."

Ariadne glanced at her teammates to see how they would react to this request, but they each seemed particularly poker-faced.

"Do you think that is necessary, Mr. Shaw?" Eames asked, his voice not offended or upset, merely inquiring.

"He has had a little bit of experience with shared dreaming, and I believe that he may be able to assist you to accomplish what I need. I would very much appreciate your cooperation in this matter."

"I was with a company that invested in subconcious defense for some of their top emploees," Pratt explained.

There was only the slightest of pauses before Arthur answered, "Of course, Mr. Shaw. We have worked with clients who wished to be a part of the extraction before."

"Very good," Shaw said. "Again, I am pleased to have you working for me. Good day, gentlemen. Miss Gray."

Ariadne felt herself relax as they walked back out into the hallway, but the others remained silent until they exited the building.

"Well, that was interesting," Eames said as he opened the car door.

"Is it usual for clients to want to be part of an extraction?" she asked.

"Not as a rule," Eames said.

"It was clever, how he added that at the last minute," Yusuf said

"He seemed very friendly," she said.

"Don't let the flattery and jolly manner fool you, Ari," Eames said. "That chap has been a shrewd businessman to get where he is today, and he's very good about making the impression that he wants to make."

"So, you're telling me that he wanted me to believe he saw me as a little girl?"

"Ariadne," Eames said affectionately, "sometimes, you are adorably naïve."

Ariadne shot him a look over her shoulder that would have frozen boiling water.

"Wait until we are out of the car to kill him," Yusuf said. "I like this suit, and I wouldn't like to get blood on it."

"Oh, don't take it too hard," Eames said. "He was very, very good, and, remember, it's my job to read people. Remember how you felt about him after he realized that what he said might not have gone over very well, and he apologized. It was meant to put you off your guard, make you feel that he was a rather harmless old gent."

Ariadne was not about to admit that this was exactly what she had thought. She glanced at Arthur, who had yet to speak since they had left Shaw's office. He kept his eyes fixed on the road, but he finally spoke.

"It's a simple job, and Shaw is paying us very well for it," he said.

"Really well," Eames commented. "It may not hold a candle to the paycheck that we got from the inception, but we're certainly not going to starve.

Ariadne turned to face forward again and looked over at Arthur. He looked worried.


	11. Chapter 11 Snake in the Grass

**Author's Note: Here's the deal, my darlings. I am afraid that for the month of December, I will be updating every five days rather than every four. I've got ungodly amounts of studying to do, not to mention the Christmas presents I have to find and buy, and I confess that while the first half of chapter twelve has been written for months now, the second half is not coming to me very easily. I am, however, very pleased to present to you chapter eleven! I have actually had maybe half of chapter eleven written as far back as August, so I hope you enjoy it. As always, all reviews are appreciated, and how nice some of your reviews have been!**

**All my love, Ballerina Terminator**

**P.S. IT CAME OUT ON DVD! WOOHOO!**

**P.P.S. Sorry about the second updating in this chapter, my wonderful reviewer elaeye was kind enough to bring some rather unfortunate typos in my text. For clarity, I felt that they were important enough to fix. This chapter went through several revisions, I'm afraid (usually at three in the morning), and as a result, there were a few places that didn't get redone properly. So, thanks for the heads up, elaeye, and thanks for you're lovely reviews!**

**Disclaimer: The rights belong to Christopher Nolan, but the DVD belongs to me! **

Chapter Eleven – Snake in the Grass

Arthur knows he's in a dream immediately. He is in a ballroom surrounded by pillars that are impossibly curved, yet remain standing. The lights from the chandeliers shine and sparkle off the mirrored walls. Suddenly, she is there in front of him resplendent in a wine colored silk dress, hair twisted and pinned up in intricate curls, smiling up at him with painted lips. He doesn't even have time to return the smile before she rises up on her toes and plants a light kiss on his cheek, just brushing the corner of his mouth, before she turns around to walk out of the brightly lit room onto a balcony that opens up to the starry night sky.

Her first steps seem so slow, the hem of her long dress still swinging around her ankles from the turn. She glances back briefly as she approaches the doorway, and the smile turns into a mischievous grin.

Then, suddenly, time seems to race forward. He hears the shots fired and sees her convulse and drop. She is on the ground, clutching her stomach. He starts running toward her, but it feels like the distance has stretched, and it is a struggle to get to her. Suddenly, there is a man, a projection, with a gun to Arthur's head, and he knows that he will never make it to her; Ariadne will just keep lying there in agony, unable to die, unable to wake up, her tiny gasps of pain echoing off the vaulted ceiling as time ticks on and on-and then everything is gone.

Arthur sat up in bed with such a jolt that he nearly fell to the floor, but he caught himself on the nightstand. He was drenched in a cold sweat that made him shiver. Arthur stood up, grabbed his weighted red die off the nightstand, and headed for the bathroom. After throwing his die not once, but twice, on the bathroom's white marble counter, he turned on the cold tap and splashed the frigid water over his face and head. As he straightened, he looked at the tiny clock next to the mirror as it declared the local time to be a quarter to six in the morning. Here Arthur debated with himself. He was tired, but there was nothing that he wanted to do less than go back to sleep. He turned on the shower.

It was ages since the last time he had a real dream, at least one he remembered having after he had woken from it. He could no longer remember what the last one had been, but he knew he was going to remember this one, no matter how hard he tried to forget it. Every time he tried to shake it out of his mind it would pop back up moments later, without the slightest provocation. It was going to be the kind of dream that needed time before it would stop being so real to him. He needed to be doing something. After he dressed, he grabbed his overcoat off the rack next to the door and left the hotel. When he walked out of the building on the ground floor, he took a deep breath, the icy December air filling his lungs, and turned left.

After a mile of walking with no improvement to his state of mind, he gave up, and headed back into the warm building. When he walked back into the common area of the suite, he noticed the quiet noises coming from the kitchenette. Ariadne stood next to the sink, scrubbing the dishes from the night before. He stood at the entrance to the kitchen and watched her as she worked.

She was still in the flannel pajama pants and tank top that constituted her sleepwear. Her hair had been tied into two neat braids before she had gone to sleep, but now strands of the dark curls were pulling free from each. Her mp3 player sat in the back pocket of her pajamas and the light blue cord of the ear buds snaked up her back and into each ear. She sang with whatever song she was listening to so softly that it was a moment before he realized she was singing with Elvis Presley.

He suddenly realized that he was smiling for the first time since he had woken up. He was shaken from his silent contemplation of her by the whistling from the tea kettle on the stove. Ariadne turned to take the kettle from the stove and nearly dropped it when she caught sight of Arthur for the first time in her peripheral vision. She managed to keep from either dropping it or burning herself, placing it on a burner that was not on and smiled in embarrassment for being startled.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"I'm fine," she said. She glanced at the overcoat that he still wore. "Have you been out?"

He shrugged dismissively. "I couldn't sleep. I took a walk."

She nodded sympathetically. "Damn time zones," she said with feeling. "You know, I hate early mornings, but it feels like I've slept until noon. Let me make you a cup of tea or would you prefer coffee?" He protested that he didn't want to put her to the trouble, but she dismissed his polite refutation. "Don't be ridiculous. You've been outside in the freezing cold, and I want to make you something to warm drink. If you would like, I'll make you hot cocoa with a candy cane in it to get you into the Christmas spirit."

"That sounds delightful," he said, relenting. He took off his overcoat and jacket and laying them over one of the chairs at the small round table that stood just outside of the tiny kitchen. He sat down and watched her prepare two cups of the chocolate drink. "I take it you really enjoy Christmas?" he asked her as she carefully unwrapped the first of two candy canes.

"Adore it," she replied enthusiastically. "What was it that tipped you off?"

"Ariadne, I saw you pack a Santa hat, you were singing Blue Christmas when I walked in, and you have informed me more than three weeks before Christmas Eve that it is time for me to get into the holiday spirit. There were a few hints." She laughed at his analysis and, grinning broadly, glanced back at him over her shoulder. For the first time since he had come back in from his walk, the dream was brought forcefully to the front of his mind. Silence permeated the atmosphere until she turned to the table.

"Here you go. See if that doesn't warm you up." She sat his mug in front of him and sat down with her own before looking at him again. "What's the matter?" she asked apprehensively. "You look…upset."

Arthur started. "What? No, I was just thinking," he said, sitting up straighter. He gave her a small smile, and she held his gaze for a long silent moment before dropping her eyes. Then, she seemed to examine herself critically.

"I'm going to go get cleaned up and dress. Between you and Eames, I always feel so slovenly." She got up quickly, mug in hand, and had closed the door to her room before he could think of anything to say to stop her.

"You look lovely," he finally said quietly.

Tuesday morning's meeting with Mr. Pratt was very productive. A personnel file on Neal Vimes was provided for along with a background check and his resume.

"One of the first things that we'll need to arrange is a time and place to perform the extraction," Arthur said.

"We've actually arranged for that already." Pratt explained that they had set up a conference for the following week, and as it was in town at a prestigious local hotel and Vimes lived outside the city, the company had generously provided for accommodations. They had also arranged for the room next to the Vimes's room, a connecting suite, to be available for the extraction team.

Arthur and Eames exchanged a glance that Ariadne couldn't read.

"That'll work," Eames admitted.

"And as far as you know, he's never had any experience with shared dreaming?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Well, I think that the best way is to put him somewhere comfortable, somewhere that seems familiar to him, and we'll do something to keep him distracted or occupied while we go in, get the information, and get out," Arthur said. "We keep it to one level."

"I could model it after the office building," Ariadne said. "It doesn't have to be an exact outline, just very similar. If I could get a good look around, I'll dress up the maze with the building's décor. I assume that most of the floors done in similar style?"

"More or less, and I'd be happy to take you on a tour of the facilities."

"And for a distraction?" Yusuf asked.

"Does the company hold a Christmas party?" Ariadne asked.

"Yes, and it's quite an event," Pratt said uncertainly. "But what does this have to do with…"

"I'll set one up in the dream, and that should keep him occupied long enough. No one likes to leave a party that they're enjoying."

"I like it," Eames declared. "When we finish the extraction, we can hang out at the party until time runs out."

"Oh, and we can have dancing!" Ariadne said brightly. "I'll want to see whatever room that you might have in the building that would work for a large Christmas party, so I can model it off that. I'll put a safe in an office on the other side of the building."

When they returned to the hotel that afternoon, after Ariadne had been given a tour, Arthur gestured to Eames, and they hung back in the hallway.

"What's up?"

"I want to know what you think of the job."

"I don't know," Eames said. "It seems simple enough, but there is something dodgy about the whole thing."

"How many clients have you had that have practically set up the extraction for you?"

"Not many actually send someone with you either."

"Saito."

"Fair enough," Eames admitted. "But with inception it was more understandable."

Arthur nodded gravely.

Ariadne poked her head out of the door to the suite.

"Are you two coming in, or are you going to start camping in the hallway? Yusuf is making lunch."

After lunch, Ariadne pulled out a sketchpad and, taking bits and pieces from other mazes and adding new elements as necessary, by the time dinner had been prepared, she had created the outline for the dream that she was certain would do quite nicely. Compared to the one that she created in Afghanistan, it was relatively simple, but she did add several subtle safety features to allow for unexpected problems.

Over breakfast the next morning, she spread out the floor plan of the dream over the table and began to describe the layout.

"I'm keeping everything on one floor, but I have added some areas where we can close up the pathways behind us, and we can back track around here and here. This is the room that has the safe. I put it in the wall behind a painting."

"Classic," Eames said.

"And here is the where we are going to have the party going keep Vimes distracted," Ariadne pointed out. This is really the only place that I'm going to need to work on the appearance of the room. Everything else will be done in the normal style of the building."

"Very good," Arthur said. "Yusuf will provide us with the sedative to knock out Vimes."

"Won't that make it dangerous for Vimes if something happens to him in the dream."

"Not this sedative," Yusuf assured her. "It's just strong enough to keep him from waking up while you're putting him under, and it will wear off completely over night. He'll have the best night of sleep that he's had in a long time."

Eames and I will take care of the safe. We can send Mr. Pratt in to watch Vimes while we run the extraction, make sure that he doesn't leave."

"What about me?" Ariadne asked.

"You're not going under for this one."

"What?" Ariadne cried. "Why not?"

"First of all, it's not necessary. Frankly, we already have more people going under than is really necessary."

"But I want to go. I sat out last time, but those were extenuating circumstances!"

"I don't know what to expect here. I don't believe that Shaw is being entirely straight with us about this job, and when it comes down to it, you are still a novice at this."

"And I always will be if I never get any experience. Come on, Arthur, we're not using any sedative this time. Seriously, the worst that could happen to me is that I get shot, and then I wake up."

"That is hardly the worst thing that can happen to you in a dream," Arthur said in a calm, quiet voice. "We're not arguing about this Ariadne. You're not going under for this job."

Ariadne was put out. Talking to Arthur about this was getting her nowhere. Neither was reasoning, shouting, pleading or pouting. What Ariadne needed was someone to speak up for her, someone to help plead her case, so Ariadne went to find one. Three minutes later, Ariadne hopped onto the edge of Yusuf's desk and smiled at him amiably.

"I'm not getting into it, Ariadne," he said firmly, not looking from his work. "Arthur is an excellent Point Man, and I'm not going to try to talk him out of any decisions he has made for this team that fall so completely within his domain." Ariadne's sweet expression fell into one of confusion.

"How did you know?" she asked, slightly petulantly.

"Ariadne," Yusuf said, finally looking up at her, "I have four sisters. _Four_."

"Yes, Eames mentioned as much."

Occasionally, I think of which you remind me of the most at any given time. Usually, you are Shani, the eldest, but just now you are the baby, Nadra, when she wants me to do something for her."

Ariadne sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just so aggravating. He won't listen to reason!"

Yusuf sighed. Ariadne was definitely taking this as a sign of rejection, and she was not taking it well. Damn Arthur and his emotional short-sightedness.

"Ariadne, Arthur feels responsible for your well being, and this is a touchy and unpredictable situation. He just doesn't want to see you get hurt," said Yusuf, experienced older brother. Ariadne nodded slightly, obviously not convinced. Yusuf relented a little. "Look, the job will be Tuesday night, and if Arthur doesn't let up before that, I'll say something to him if I think it might help." _Something along the lines of 'Man up and talk to her already, or I'll poison you're next meal,' _he thought irritably. She smiled at him gratefully.

"Thanks, Yusuf." She leaned over and gave him a quick hug before hopping back off the desk and headed back out. He shook his head and went back to his work. It was a full three minutes later before he realized she had gotten just what she wanted out of him, exactly as Nadra always did.

Ariadne gave a tour of the dream for the entire team on Friday before the extraction. Edward Pratt came to the hotel, and after Ariadne had gone over the outline with him, she, Pratt, Eames, and Arthur hooked up to the PASIV machine.

Yusuf turned on the machine, and the extraction team found themselves in an office that was indiscernible from any of the basic offices that Ariadne had seen on her tour of the building, except for the painting on the wall over the desk, a smaller print of Gustave Caillebotte's _Paris Street, Rainy Day_.

Ariadne walked over to the painting and pulled on the edge. It swung away from the wall like a door to reveal a safe door.

"Voila," Ariadne said. "I assume that you can crack this, Eames?"

"In my sleep."

The tour continued through the hallways and ended in a large room decorated with lit up fir trees in each corner that gave the whole room a soft glow, and green garlands hung around the walls while the voice of Ella Fitzgerald came from a sound system singing O Holy Night. The effect was just what Ariadne had wanted.

"This looks really amazing, Ari," Eames said.

"Thank you. I quite like it."

"I'm beginning to suspect you suggested a Christmas party just so you could have fun decorating for one," Arthur said, gazing around the room.

"Maybe I did," Ariadne said, attempting to be aloof. Conversation between Arthur and Ariadne had been tense to say the least.

"Well, it looks amazing," Arthur said, gazing around the room appreciatively.

It irritated Ariadne that this complement still made her stomach do a flip. Didn't her stomach know that she was mad at him?

The days leading up to the job were spent learning the outline of the dream, although Ariadne spent time teaching the dream in detail to Eames who would again be the dreamer. By the time Tuesday rolled around, Ariadne had not yet convinced Arthur to let her do the extraction, but she came along to the hotel regardless. Yusuf preferred to stay behind, as he said, he rarely went out into the field.

The subject had made things easy for the team by ordering room service for dinner. Arthur timed his part well. When he saw the man delivering the food, he headed down the hallway with the empty ice bucket in tow.

When he came upon the man with the tray, he stopped him.

"Is that my order? Room 908?"

"Yes sir."

"Ah, just set it outside the door, would you? I'm out to grab some ice, and I'll be back in just a moment." Arthur handed the man a generous tip.

"Of course, sir, happy to do so!"

Arthur continued on down the hallway to the ice dispenser, filled the bucket with ice, and passed the hotel employee on his way back. He gave him a friendly smile and thanked him.

Ariadne and Eames turned as Arthur came back into the room.

"He should be out in no time."

An hour later, Eames started picking the lock of the door that led into the adjoining room. As he worked, Ariadne decided to give participation one more attempt. She reached out and touched Arthur's arm, and he turned to look back at her. She struggled to fight down the sudden nervousness that welled up as he looked down at her with his dark, serious gaze, but she pushed on.

"Arthur, let me go under with you. No, you have to give me at least half a chance to convince you," she insisted before he could interrupt. She lay a hand on his arm, unwilling to take the chance that he might leave. "I want to help, and I've got to be far and away more use to you going into the dream than I could be just sitting here waiting for you to finish."

Arthur sighed. "Do you really want to really want to go under with us that much?"

"Yes, I do! I hate sitting around waiting for you and Eames to finish while I have nothing to do but worry about how you are doing!"

Arthur's eyes rested on her hand which still rested on his arm, but despite the impulse she felt to pull back quickly in embarrassment, she resisted, and instead, she took a step closer to him.

"Come on, Arthur," she said firmly. "You keep saying how this is a quick, in-and-out kind of job. We're hardly trying for inception, here. I am part of this team. I created the dream that you are about to go into, and I don't want to sit on the sidelines as though I've done something wrong. I'm perfectly capable of handling whatever I need to, you made sure of it."

Arthur looked for a moment as though he were about to relent, albeit grudgingly.

"Besides," she continued, " you've said how you don't trust Pratt, and if I come along, I can keep an eye on him.

Arthur's expression suddenly became thunderous, and he stepped back from her.

"Ariadne, I've told you that I don't want you in the dream for the extraction, and I mean it," he said coldly. "I've got too much to worry about without having to worry about babysitting you as well."

Ariadne blinked in surprise, unable to completely believe what her ears had heard. Angry and embarrassed, she nodded silently before making a swift exit to the connecting hotel room where the subject lay in a drug-induced sleep.

Eames had been standing off to one side, but he had certainly been close enough to hear what was said. He was nearly as surprised at Arthur's comment as Ariadne, it had been so out of character for the unfailingly polite Point Man. Up until that moment, Eames had believed that she had Arthur wrapped around her little finger, and been almost certain that Ariadne would have finally been able to carry her point.

Before Eames had a chance to say anything, they heard a knock on the door, and Arthur opened it to Edward Pratt.

"Come on," Arthur almost snapped at the hesitant man before heading for the adjoining room.

When they entered, Ariadne was bent over Vimes, carefully swabbing his arm with disinfectant, her long, thick braid swinging inches over the unconscious form as she worked. She did not look up at their entrance. The PASIV device had already been set up on the night stand between the beds, and Pratt took the space on the bed between Vimes and the nightstand. Arthur and Eames took the bed closest to the door to the hallway, pulling out leads from the silver case, and carefully inserted the needles into their arms before getting comfortable.

"Could you help me with the IV?" Pratt asked Ariadne as soon as she had finish with Vimes. "I'm afraid that I'm not very good with needles."

"Sure," Ariadne replied. She made her way over to the other side of the bed and inserted the IV into Pratt's arm while carefully ignoring Arthur, who lay on the near side of the other bed not two feet from her. As soon as she had done with Pratt, she moved to the PASIV and set each timer for the allotted time.

"Whenever you're ready, you have fifteen minutes on the timer," she said quietly, resting her fingertips lightly on the button.

"Go ahead, Ari," Eames said.

Ariadne pressed the button, and around her everyone slipped into unconsciousness.

Eames looked around at the office building that had been modeled off the Shaw Financial Co. building. Just inside the double doors to his right, loud Christmas music could be heard.  
Arthur turned to Pratt immediately. "Go find Vimes, and stick to him. The last thing we need is for him to wander in while we are working."

Pratt nodded obediently, and slid though the doors, the loud Christmas music echoing in the hall until the two doors slid shut again.

The moment the doors had closed behind Pratt, Eames turned to Arthur.

"Look, you and I need to have a talk," he said firmly.

"Now? You don't think whatever it is can wait?" Arthur asked, suspecting where this conversation might be going and not liking it.

"Now, Arthur. You are obviously upset with Ariadne wanting to go under for the extraction for God knows what reason, but the way you just spoke to her was really rather cruel. In all the time I've worked with you, I have never before seen you act less than a gentleman with any woman you have come across, and I'd almost say that was especially true of Ariadne. Before we go to work, I want to know where your head is.

"Look, I'm really beginning to not trust these people, and I don't want her wandering off in this dream with as little as we know about our situation. I have a job to do, and I can't protect her in here," he said, straining to control his tone.

"You don't have to protect her, you know," Eames said, not unreasonably. "She's the Architect, not a tourist, and she knows how to handle herself. She understands as well as anybody that she could get hurt while dreaming, and she's made it very clear that she's okay with the risks."

"I'm not okay with it!" Arthur snapped back furiously. He regretted the outburst nearly instantly. Eames was suddenly looking at Arthur as though he had never really seen him before.

"Oh, dear Lord," he said in dawning revelation. This, Arthur could suddenly tell, could only end in badly. "God in heaven," Eames said, again inviting his creator to marvel with him at the epiphany that had just been visited upon him. "You are in love with her."

Arthur's face shut down.

"I mean, I was pretty sure that you were beginning to fancy her," Eames went on, ignoring Arthur's. "That was a bit obvious, but when a Point Man is actively trying to keep the Architect out of her own dream to try to keep her from harm, we have moved well past mere adoration. You, my friend, are gone. Way passed gone. Oh, this is too good."

"Shut up."

"You're so completely taken with her, and of course, she has no idea. Because rocks that transmit emotions more effectively than you do," Eames continued, still going on as though Arthur hadn't said a word.

"Eames!"

"And, Good God, have you even considered how she feels?"

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked, momentarily distracted.

"Have you considered how _she_ feels about _you_?"

Arthur looked blankly at him.

Eames groaned. "Arthur. You are an idiot."

"And you are delusional," the point man snapped, turning away and walking off. "I am not in love with her."

Eames, though, was having none of it. "Right," he drawled sarcastically. "And I'm the butterfly princess of Megalomania."

"Tell me something I don't know," Arthur muttered, not quite under his breath, exiting the room.

Eames sighed, following the point man out. If it had been anyone else, Eames would have had the sense to let the subject die, but this was Arthur. Eames wouldn't have been able to stop himself from continuing to aggravate Arthur for all the poker chips in Monte Carlo.

"It's hardly anything to be ashamed of, you know," Eames said doggedly, attempting to continue his harassment with a serious face. "I mean, she is quite pretty, in a soft, ethereal kind of way."

"I hadn't noticed," Arthur growled.

"And one could hardly miss the fact that she is clever, easily the most brilliant dream Architect that I've ever come across."

"Her work has been quite satisfactory," Arthur conceded grudgingly.

"Not to mention that it is absolutely angelic how she cares for others," Eames declared with a melodramatic sigh, aware that his saccharine description was going overboard. He peeked sideways at the point man for reaction.

"I'm sure it's very touching," Arthur replied evenly.

Eames was finally fed up. "You know, you might as well own up. It wouldn't hurt anything."

Suddenly, Arthur rounded on Eames, absolutely livid.

"Damn it, Eames, not even you could be so senseless! This isn't a joke! In this business, falling in love is foolish and dangerous. Do you not remember what happened to Mal? She lost herself inside a dream she and Cobb created. In the end, she died because of it, and I can't let that happen to Ariadne! I won't let it!"

Eames, momentarily at a loss for words, let out a long, low whistle. "Look, mate, I see how it could be dangerous, but that's not going to save you from it at this point," Eames said quietly.

Arthur didn't respond. Instead, he turned on his heel and strode ahead at a pace that Eames didn't even try to match, preferring to let Arthur stew alone with his thoughts which, as it happened, was exactly what Arthur was doing.

Arthur stormed off with his head full of the loud, angry thoughts. Eames had no idea what he was talking about! Everything he was saying was absolutely ridiculous! However, as hard as Arthur tried, he entirely failed to block out the quiet, calm little thought that told him without subtlety or mercy that Eames was right.

"God damn it!" The profanity was out of his mouth before he could check it the moment he realized he had just stalked past the turn he was supposed to take. He spun around to see Eames waiting for him at the turn with an expectant, knowing look that screamed "We both know I'm right." without making a sound. He strode back and past Eames without making eye contact.

"I don't want to hear it," he grumbled.

"I knew you'd come to your senses," Eames quipped. "I just hope you're going to have a damned good apology ready by the time we're done here. I happen to be feeling rather brotherly and protective of that girl as of late, and no one is going to talk to any sister of mine like that. Also, I'm not so sure you're good enough for her. We'll find out how she feels about the matter, and then we'll see."

"For a love of all that is holy, Eames, shut up!"

"You are not helping your case."

Arthur ignored him and strode into the room with the safe. Glancing around, he walked over to the Degas painting above the desk. If Eames noticed the subject of the painting, he didn't say, but Arthur quickly swung it back so the ballerinas faced the wall. Then, after flexing his fingers, Eames placed them on the combination dial and gave it a spin.

Pratt had not taken long to find the mark, and once he had, Pratt was confident that he was sufficiently involved in the party to leave him.

Pratt jogged through the maze quickly. As much as it might be prudent to keep an eye on Vimes at a time like this, he wanted more to see what the other two men were up to, so when he got to the safe room, he was just in time to see Eames pull down the handle on the safe door and swing it open. Pratt ducked into the open door of the room across the hall and stood behind the door to listen.

"Okay, what do we have here?" Arthur's voice said, very audible though the door. There was a moment's silence before Eames's voice came, low and breathless.

"Oh, hell."

"Oh, hell, oh hell," Eames repeated looking over Arthur's shoulder at the pages that had been stuffed into the manila folder. Arthur flipped over the pages, scanning frantically. He couldn't believe his eyes. What they told him just couldn't be true.

"This changes everything," he stated coldly.

"Damned right," Eames spat. "What are we going to do?"

"I'm not sure, but we can't just sit here. Come on. We're going back to the party." Arthur slid the papers into his jacket pocket, and without so much as closing the door for the safe, he and Eames headed out of the room.

When Pratt was certain the two extractors would be out of sight, he walked across the hall to the safe room and entered. When he saw the open safe, he strode over and examined the contents. When he realized it was empty his frown deepened. He stood in front of the open safe for a moment, and came to a decision. That was when Pratt pulled out his gun, and without so much as a flicker of emotion in his eyes, he put the barrel to his head and pulled the trigger.

A split second later, he woke up in the hotel room with a great gasp of air.

After pressing the button that sent her teammates and the subject off into dreamland, Ariadne stood very still for what seemed a long time, staring into space. It couldn't be said that she was lost in thought as her mind seemed to be rather blank, but she soon shook herself and focused firmly on the task at hand. She had been carefully placing the headphones over Arthur's ears in anticipation for the eventual time warning when Edward Pratt woke with a violent start. Ariadne jumped up and went quickly to his side. She put a comforting hand on his arm, and spoke reassuringly.

"Hey, it's okay. You're all right," she said, parroting the words Arthur had said to her the first time that she had woken up from death so many months ago. "What happened?"

He shook his head, obviously in distress. The concern in her face deepened.

"Is there anything I can do for you? Something I could get for you?" she offered, clearly anxious to help.

"Cold water, please," he replied, his voice and hands both trembling. She nodded and made toward the table where the pitcher, ice, and glasses sat.

Ariadne carefully prepared the glass of ice water, and just behind her, Pratt, his eyes never leaving her, stopped trembling and, in one fluid movement, he stood up.

When Arthur walked into the office party with Eames, much to his relief, he saw Vimes almost immediately. Equally to his relief, there was no sign of Pratt, but he didn't dare hope that he wouldn't show up soon. It was completely without ceremony, therefore, that Arthur marched directly over to Vimes, tailed closely by Eames.

"We need to talk."

"Really? What about?"

"Do you know what extraction is?" Arthur asked sharply. Eames raised an eyebrow at Arthur's complete lack of subtlety.

Vimes looked confused. "Do you mean dream extraction?"

"Exactly. So, you would understand if I told you that we, that is, my friend here and I, are extractors?" At this point, both eyebrows went up.

"Yes, but, if I'm not mistaken, dream extraction is illegal in the US."

"Usually this is the case, yes," Arthur said candidly. "But I still think it is a far cry from human trafficking, wouldn't you agree, FBI Agent Vimes?"

If Arthur had been choosing his words for best impact, Eames thought, he could not have done better. The alarm in the man's eyes was hard to miss.

"How did you know that?"

"Because, Agent, we were hired to extract from you," Arthur said, placing the folder into his hands. "I'd like you to think very carefully for a minute, and tell me, if you can remember how you got here."

Ariadne carefully placed four ice cubes into the glass before reaching for the pitcher. She had just wrapped her hand around the handle when she felt _it_.

What she felt was very light indeed, but it filled her with fear. Someone, Ariadne realized, was standing close enough to her that she could feel their breath on her neck, and she hadn't heard a thing.

Ariadne spun around just in time to be struck in the face. It was only a glancing blow, thrown off as Pratt was by her sudden turn, but as a seasoned fighter will tell you, even a glancing blow to the head can be very disorienting. As off balance as she was when struck, Ariadne found herself thrown to the ground by it and nearly knocked the table over as she went down. The glasses and the pitcher toppled onto the floor, breaking two as they collided on the floor, and the lamp toppled over as the table righted itself. Pratt dropped down onto her hard, pinning her shoulders to the ground and knocking the wind from her. She groped around for a moment before her hand landed on one of the broken glasses. She tightened her grip on it, and with all the force that she could manage, slammed it broken edge first into the man's face. The glass shattered and blood splattered everywhere. Pratt recoil, throwing his hands up over his face for protection. Ariadne wormed her way out from under him, and made a dash for the bed where Arthur and Eames lay sleeping. Arthur was the closest to her. If she could just get to him, get a hold of a sleeve or a foot, she could affect a kick by pulling them off the bed.

She was so very close when she felt Pratt's hand close around her ankle and jerk her back down to the floor. As he dragged her back toward him over the remains of the two broken glasses, she grabbed the leg of the table with a blood drenched hand as long as she could before her damp fingers began to slip, and as she lost her grip on the table leg, Ariadne remembered to scream.

Eames and Arthur waited patiently while Vimes tried to wrap his mind around what Arthur had just explained to him. To his credit, Vimes had remained very calm throughout the conversation, and, although his projections had all begun to stare at Arthur and Eames intently, they went back to their previous activities rather promptly.

"Here's what I don't understand," Vimes said hesitantly. "You have what you came for and could have gotten out scot free, but instead, here you are, telling me what you were hired to do."

"Ah, let me see if I can explain," Eames interjected. "What my associate has been driving at is this. We are extractors, which as you point out, is not always an entirely legal venture, but, and I believe that we agree that this is a very important 'but', we are not without morals. In extraction, you mostly get rich people stealing secrets from other rich people, companies making power plays, and sometimes even the occasional completely legal military contract. None of these things exactly keeps us awake at night racked with guilt."

"Right up until a moment ago," Arthur explained, "before we extracted this information from you, we knew you only as an employee with questionable loyalty, possibly stealing from the company. When we were hired, we agreed to dispel doubts about your loyalty one way or the other. We did not agree to expose a federal agent to a CEO of a corporation that is under investigation for human trafficking. We looked through that file, and we saw the pictures. Children younger than my little sister! Do you really think that Shaw is involved in this?"

"We are certain. I'm looking for concrete evidence that will hold up in a court room."

Arthur nodded gravely. " We do not want to be associated with this company, but you need to know that your actions are drawing attention and-"

"Arthur," Eames interrupted. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That high pitched sound, kind of like… a siren, maybe? It's kind of muffled."

"I don't hear it. It doesn't matter; the timer should be nearly down to three minutes now. We need to find Pratt before the music starts."

"That's another thing," Eames said, scanning the crowded room. "I haven't seen Pratt . Where the hell is he, do you think?"

"Who is Pratt?"

"Tourist," Eames said.

"Not on our team," Arthur explained. "He works for the company, ostensibly as part of security. You may have seen him at work." Arthur described him with as much detail as he could.

"I believe I saw a man matching that description earlier, but I haven't seen him for quite a while now. I don't believe he stayed long."

Eames and Arthur exchanged worried looks that Vimes caught immediately.

"Let's go look for him," Arthur said. "We should at least check the safe room."

As they headed for the door, Vimes turned to Eames, and said, "I think I hear that sound you were talking about." Eames nodded as the high pitched whine echoed again for a minute before dying away. It unsettled him.

Their trip though Ariadne's maze seemed long and arduous. By the time Arthur saw the door to the safe room, he was certain that the music would be starting soon. He paused just outside the door to the room to listen for it, but then Eames called him from inside the safe room in a tone of urgency that Arthur couldn't miss. He ran into the room, gun drawn, and immediately saw how little good it would do.

Arthur looked down at the body sprawled on the floor with the gun in the hand and a hole in the head. He looked over at Eames with a look of dawning horror on his face. Pratt had woken up, woken himself up, right inside the safe room, and he had awoken in the room where Ariadne was waiting for them all alone.

"Arthur," Eames said, in a voice that betrayed his growing sense of panic, "that sound, the one I kept hearing…it was screaming."

A horrible, cold, sinking felling slammed into the pit of his stomach. Before he could really think about what he was doing it, Arthur had raised the gun and pulled the trigger. Arthur bolted upright, knocking the headphones and mp3 player to the floor, as he came out of the dream and tried to take in his surroundings.

Eames was just sitting up himself when Arthur scrambled off the bed and ran to the bathroom, shouting her name. Even before he got to the open door, he could tell that the bathroom was dark and empty. He still couldn't stop himself from hitting the light switch and scanned the entire room. He was suddenly aware of Eames calling to him from the other side of the spacious room. He looked over to Eames who was looking down at something that Arthur could not see for the couch that stood in the way. He made his way around to the other side the blood came into view. The smeared hand print of blood on the leg of the table showed a hand pried from its grip. The carpet was covered mores smears and drops of blood, and shards of glass were scattered everywhere, leaving the most unmistakable signs of struggle. The lamp that had once stood on the table next to the water pitcher and glasses lay on its side, still on, throwing a harsh light over the area.

Ariadne was nowhere to be seen.


	12. Chapter 12 Feeding the Flames

**Author's note: Hey guys! So, welcome to chapter twelve. Hope you like it. As for chapter thirteen, I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you. I've got three finals this week, and, while I will do my damnedest to get it out for you on time, I am not making any promises. If I die of studying or my finals kill me, my beta reader has instructions to post the patchy notes and rough drafts for the rest. I apologize if there is a delay, but I do promise I will have everything up by Christmas. Now, I'm going back to my studying.**

**Love, Ballerina Terminator**

Chapter Twelve – Feeding the Flames

The cold feeling in Arthur's stomach clenched hard, making him struggle to breath. Suddenly, the effort to keep it together was herculean. Eames was taken aback as he watched Arthur fight for composure. This was so totally outside his experiences with Arthur that he found himself fingering the totem in his pocket. Then, the cell phone on the table buzzed. Arthur had it open and to his ear at whiplash speed.

"Yes?" Arthur demanded.

"Mr. Hamilton, I believe that you have some information that I need. This, I feel, is fortunate for you as I have something that I am certain that you would like back," said a calm voice on the other end. Eames could hear it clearly from wear he stood. That was when Arthur lost his cool.

"You let me speak to Ariadne right now, you God-damned bastard!"

"Really, Mr. Hamilton, I'm afraid that I cannot do that. I am afraid that she is somewhat indisposed. But I wouldn't worry too much," he continued, interrupting Arthur's attempt to interject. "I'm sure that with some careful and swift medical attention, she could make a full recovery."

Arthur swore colorfully. The voice on the other end waited patiently before continuing.

"Mr. Hamilton, we need only your full cooperation before such attention becomes available. I can see that you appreciate the gravity of the situation, so you can see the wisdom in a trade. If you don't like this idea, just say so." After a moment of silence from Arthur, he continued. "Very good. I wish you to meet me tomorrow at noon. I will call you with the location. If you honor the arrangement, and tell me what you found out from the extraction, I will take release her into your custody. See you in the morning." The click that cut the off the connection was deafening. Arthur didn't move for what seemed an age, a blank look on his face. After a moment of silence, Eames spoke softly.

"We can get her back, yes? It'll be all right, mate."

"Oh, we're going to get her back, all right," Arthur said, "but we're not waiting for that bastard to let her go. She may not have that much time, even if that bastard means to honor his deal. Call Yusuf, and tell him we need him to bring some things. We will be making a personal visit to Mr. Shaw's home. Tonight."

When Ariadne came to, she recovered consciousness very gradually, blinking as the dimly lit bare room came slowly into focus. She could feel the coolness of the tile under her cheek and a sharp pain where the bone ridge just over her left eye was in contact with the floor. She was nauseous, and she had a raging headache. She wondered vaguely if this was what a hangover felt like. Shakily, she drew in her arms and let out a shuddering breath as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

Ariadne took some slow, careful breaths as she her brain fished around for how she came to be lying in a tiny, dimly light room. She was gently fingering the area at the corner of her left eye where she could feel matted blood and the open, deep split in the skin, when suddenly everything came rushing back to her, from the Pratt's first strike to her face right up until he had forced a handkerchief over her mouth and everything had gone dark.

Ariadne was suddenly filled with fury. How dare that horrible little man do that to her! How dare he hit her! How dare he kidnap her and throw her in this cold little room? And, in God's name, what kind of person carried chloroform with them?

Ariadne started up in anger, but a terrible stabbing pain in her side cut the movement short. She pressed a hand to her side, which, as it turned out to be a mistake. The pressure had only caused a sudden increase in pain, and she gave a harsh gasp.

After she swore rather breathlessly, she shifted again, much more carefully this time, to lean on the nearby wall winced at the sharp pain in her ribs. She glanced down to her right side to locate the source of the pain and found a patch of blood seeped around a hole in her light blue shirt. Of course, she thought wryly, it would have to be a shirt that she really liked. She lifted the shirt back to reveal the chunk of glass that had been lodged deep into her side. It was mostly caked over with dried blood, and she couldn't be really sure how big it was or how deep, but she also knew that if she had any intention of making any attempt to escape, she couldn't leave it there to cause more damage every time she moved. It had to come out, and better sooner than later, before she lost her nerve. She tried very hard not to think about how it would feel as she tried to find purchase with her finger tips on the protruding edge of the glass, slippery with oozing blood. When she found a hold, she just slid it out before she could rethink it.

Unfortunately, this didn't make it hurt any less. She swore again as the scabbing around the glass came free, a little bit of fresh blood began to pool in the newly reopened injury. The increase in pain just made her even angrier. She applied pressure until she was sure that the bleeding had subsided. After the pain of the glass removal abated, she examined the wound critically, and decided that, with outside of having more stitches to look forward to in addition to the stitches that she was destined to acquire around her eye, it really wasn't too bad, as long as she lived long enough to actually be stitched up. She tried to push this dim thought out of her mind, very much preferring to be angry rather than frightened.

She slid off her navy and white pashmina scarf which she proceeded to tie firmly around the newly reopened gash in her side. Then, she picked up the freed glass from beside her and studied it for a minute. About a centimeter thick, and roughly the size and shape of a half-dollar, albeit with much more jagged edges, she thought it might have been part of the base of the glass that she had been pouring water into when Pratt has attacked her. After a moment, she slid it into the pocket of her jeans, next to her bronze bishop which she removed. She held it for a minute, felt the weight of it, before putting it on the ground and flicking it over. She watched it strike the ground and roll around until it came to a stop. After a minute, she sighed and put it back into the pocket with the glass fragment.

For the first time, Ariadne looked up and began to study her surroundings intently: one door near the corner of the wall to her left, no windows, and one dim bulb shining in a recessed socket in the ceiling. There was not a stick of furniture, no window, no convenient ventilation shaft just big enough for a small young woman to crawl though. Some people just had no consideration for others. She sighed and glanced back up at the ceiling. It was just like any tile ceiling, a 'dropped ceiling,' in any number of office buildings all over the world.

She stood up slowly, her body protesting the movement profusely, groaning with the effort. She took a circuit around the room to test her range of movement and stopped at the door. It was thick and, even though its hinges were on the inside with her, there was little she could do with that, as the closest thing she had to a tool was the piece of glass that she had just pried out from her side. She placed her hand on the long door handle and gently pressed on it, testing for resistance. It was locked of course, just as she had known it would be, but it was worth a shot, she told herself, however unlikely. _It was worth a shot_, she repeated to herself with a small smile, amused with the association of her internal dialogue. Then she frowned, looked down at the door knob, then up at the ceiling, and then just below it to the door frame.

It occurred to Ariadne just then that those were loose tiles popped free with the slightest pressure. Certainly the tiles and tile frame couldn't support her weight, but other things could. Just above those tiles was something like a space between floors, with air conditioner systems, plumbing, and possibly support structures that could be used to stand on, and, depending on how the building was constructed, she may even be able to move to spaces over other rooms. It was such a wonderful idea, if she could only manage to get up there. Moving close to the door, she placed her fingers on the top of the shallow door frame, lifted one foot and set it on the door handle and tried to push herself up.

All things considered, this was not the complete failure that she had expected it to be. Granted, she lasted only a few seconds before she had to let herself back down (it was either that, or fall back down), and the pain in her side while she had pushed herself up was considerable, but it had been bearable. Still, the effort had shown that the concept had some merit. She allowed herself a small moment of glee at being granted the prospect of hope, before taking a careful breath and trying again.

She saw some progress in her subsequent attempts to get a proper grasp on the top edge of the door frame, but she knew that, at least to some degree, her efforts to scale the wall in silence hindered her progress. She saw no light coming through the cracks in the door from the other room, but she was painfully aware that was no guarantee that there was no one in the adjoining room or that there could be someone there at any time.

It was her fifth attempt in which she succeeded. Altering her approach slightly, she planted one hand on the nearby wall that stood perpendicular to the door and the other hand she placed back on the top of the door frame. In this way she found it easier to stay on the door knob and shift her balance as necessary. She reached up and pushed away the light ceiling tile from its aluminum frame and shifted it back on top of the adjacent tile. Now able to use the edge frame for balance, she gently placed a hand on the frame and peered into the dark above the ceiling tiles.

At some point, she was going to have to find the person who designed the building and give them a hug, for there, just above her head, was a very wide and sturdy looking pipe wrapped in a foam insulation right next to a steel frame. It couldn't have been better situated if she had designed it herself for her own convenience. _Just further proof that Jesus loves you, as Geoffrey would say,_ Ariadne thought to herself with satisfaction.

It took twenty minutes of undeniably hard work, but she finally managed it. At one point, she had even taken off her shirt and thrown it around the steel frame, using it as though it were a rope, to help pull herself up, but with a little help from adrenaline and a hell of a lot of stubbornness, she had maneuvered herself onto the pipe. She was drenched in cold sweat, and she could feel the damp of the blood that had seeped into the scarf bound over the wound. The strenuous climb certainly hadn't been conducive to healing, but, she reasoned, neither had laying in that room waiting for Pratt to come back for her. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of her playing a helpless damsel in distress.

Once she had caught her breath, she struggled to get her shirt back on with the sleeves so stretched out, but once she had, she leaned down, and with great care slid the ceiling tile that she had removed back into place, leaving no readily discernable evidence that she had ever been in the room at all. As the tile fell back into the slot, Ariadne found herself plunged into relative darkness, in a world of her own.

Yusuf arrived at the hotel in very good time after Eames had outlined the situation for him over the phone. He arrived in the middle of a discussion of a plan of action.

"We don't need much of a dream. We'll use Ariadne's dream again except we'll have his office where the Christmas party was originally," Arthur said.

"Do you think you could recreate the office well enough to fool him?" Eames asked.

"Oh, I plan to make sure that he's too distracted to notice much," Arthur said darkly.

"His subconscious is not going be happy if you mess him about too much," Eames warned. "We can bet that he's had training if Pratt has had a chance to teach him, and those projections are likely to get upset."

"Let them. It'll distract them from you, so you should be able to get to the safe easier. I'll work on getting information out of Shaw directly."

"Arthur, we could just go for the safe. Leave Shaw alone in his office and avoid having any subconscious defense kick in as long as he doesn't realize it's not real. We may not need to deal with Shaw at all."

"I don't want to risk him finding out that it's a dream before we finish and being surprised by gunfire. This way, it really won't matter if he knows. Besides, I'm looking forward to having a little chat with Mr. Shaw. Come to think about it, I'd like him to know."

Eames thought about the sound of far away screaming heard though a dream, and nodded grimly.

Arthur cut off the discussion and turned to the newly arrived Chemist. Yusuf was given instructions on what was needed from him. Arthur and Eames had done what they could, but the blood mess in Vimes's room needed attention. When Vimes woke up, the last thing they needed was for him to find his room in such a state, and since Arthur and Eames needed to get to Shaw as soon as possible, if fell to Yusuf to do the dirty work. He had to admit, it was better than what Eames and Arthur were about to do.

Ariadne waited until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. It didn't help much, but it was something. She moved to a more comfortable spot, or at least a spot with better hand holds, on the steel framework. It wasn't possible to move to other rooms, but she found that if she lay flat on the frame, she could just reach the tiles. Ariadne shifted one slightly out of its slot and the faintest beam of light penetrated into Ariadne's tiny hideaway.

Ariadne tried to feel that she was still in a better position than she had been, but it had to be admitted that she still had no idea what she was going to do next. She didn't even know what was going on, she didn't even know where she was, but it wasn't hard to guess that something had gone wrong. She wondered for a moment about Arthur and Eames. What might Pratt have done to them after he had knocked her out? The thought terrified her the way nothing else about her situation had.

Panic welled up, but she fought it down hard. There was no reason to keep her alive if he had done something to them, she told herself firmly. What would be the point? She tried to hold on this idea, but it was hard. Escape, she thought, was what she needed to focus on now. She had to get back to her boys, and if she found out that Pratt had done anything to them, she would make him pay in any way she could think of. The fire of rage rose up again, and she held onto it. She may not have known what she was going to do, but when she figured it out, it would go very hard for anyone who got in her way.

It was two in the morning when Augustus Shaw awoke to find Arthur and Eames standing over him.

"What are you doing here?" he bellowed. "And how did you get past my security system?"

"I don't believe that's really important, Mr. Shaw," Eames said conversationally. "I think that you really ought to go back to sleep."

Then, Shaw felt a sharp prick, and everything went black.

Shaw was sitting at his desk, holding working quietly when the door was slammed open, and Arthur Hamilton and Philip Eames strode in guns draw.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" is what he tried to say, but he didn't get through the word "hell" before Arthur struck him hard across the face.

"I would only speak when you're spoken to, mate," Eames said, slamming his head down onto the desk and pinning it there. "But when we tell you to talk, I suggest to you that it would be in your best interest to answer because if you refuse, Arthur here is more than willing to find a way to loosen your tongue."

Arthur leaned down to look him in the eye. "I hope you refuse."

They made short work of tying Shaw down to his chair, and Eames disappeared into the maze, leaving Arthur alone with Shaw.

"What is this all about?" Shaw demanded in the tones of a man who expects to be obeyed rather than doing the obeying.

"It might interest you to know, Mr. Shaw, that our extraction of Mr. Vimes was a success, and what we found was very interesting, to say the least. Now, it seems that knowing the results of the extraction was so important that when Mr. Pratt found out that we didn't intend to share the information with him, he thought it necessary to take our Architect as a hostage. Can you possibly know why it is so important to know what we know? What could we have possibly learned that would lead him to take such a step?"

"I have no idea!" Shaw exclaimed. "What makes you think I do?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and kicked Shaw in the chest causing the chair to fall back. Shaw's head bounced on the floor.

"You know, lying to me is only going to piss me off, and right now, you are only alive because I'm letting you live!" Arthur knelt down next to Shaw. "Tell me where Pratt would have taken Ariadne."

"I'm telling you I don't know!" said Shaw, slow learner.

Arthur put his pistol to Shaw's foot and pulled the trigger. After the screaming died down, he spoke again. "Now, if you don't want the next one to go through your brain," he said pressing the muzzle into Shaw's forehead, "you will tell me where he has taken Ariadne."

"She's here," he spluttered.

Arthur looked confused for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"Fifth floor," he managed, wincing with the pain. "Just above my office!"

Loud bangs and shouts could be heard at the door now.

"That'll be security," Shaw spat viciously, as Arthur ducked down behind the desk next to the recumbent Mr. Shaw. "You'll never get out of here."

Arthur suddenly produced a machine gun and aimed it toward the door.

"Where did that come from?" Shaw gasped just before the door burst open once again, and Arthur emptied a magazine into a squad of security officers. It was over almost immediately, and Arthur produced a second clip apparently from thin air, and loaded it into the gun. Then, he returned his attention to Shaw.

"What the hell is going on?" Shaw demanded, although he seemed more panicked. He looked desperately around the room, and for the first time he seemed to notice something wrong. "This isn't my office! It looks like it, but it's different! How did I come to be here? Is… is this a dream?" The anger and fear fought for supremacy as the truth finally dawned.

"Very good, Mr. Shaw. Now I suggest that you start being more specific about how I get to Ariadne Gray if you know what's good for you."

"But this is a dream! If you kill me, I'll just wake up!"

The look Arthur gave him made Shaw cringe back. "Kill you? I fully intend to see how long I can keep you alive."

It took Eames some time to get through all of the things that he found in the safe. Occasionally he selected a page or a memo and set it aside until he had gotten through nearly everything. He worked as quickly as he could with the sounds of projections getting closer. Finally, he abandoned the small remainder, took what he wanted, and left.

When he walked back into Shaw's office, Arthur swung his gun around to point at Eames and then lowered it as recognition hit. Eames handed his collection to Arthur and looked down at their former employer. The man had a bullet holes in his feet and a nose that was broken and bleeding, but all things considered, Eames felt that Arthur had shown remarkable restraint. Eames gave the man a kick in the ribs which resulted in an agonized groan. Arthur didn't even look up from the paperwork.

After a brief stop for supplies, Eames and Arthur rejoined Yusuf at the hotel just after four in the morning, none too soon for Yusuf who, having finished cleaning up the mess in Vimes's room, had been forced to wait for their return. After one final sweep of the room, they closed the connecting door and relocked it before going over their plans with Yusuf.

"If we went in now, the elevators would be locked down, we'd stick out on any cameras, and we'd have the building surrounded by police within minutes," Eames said. "Better to wait until everything is open for business. We were suppose to report in today, so we even have an appointment in the system. If we go in at a quarter to nine, we have working elevators, lots of people arriving to blend in with, and no active security system."

Arthur didn't look happy about having wait for nearly five hours, but he didn't protest.

"Reaching the fifth floor by elevator requires a pass key, but Mr. Shaw was kind enough to lend us his," Arthur continued. "This is where things get more complicated. The fifth floor will have heavy security, and it's a safe bet that if they are working on the top floor, they know what's really going on in this company. We are probably going to attract attention. If it's too much attention, we'll stick together and just concentrate on reaching Ariadne."

"And if not?"

"We'll see if we can get the FBI an early Christmas present. I think I might be able to find something they'll really like."

Ariadne really had no way of keeping track of time; she hadn't been wearing her watch when she had been taken. Over the course of several hours that seemed to last for days, her muscles had stiffened, her side and her head ached, and she became more and more exhausted, but that wasn't the worst part. The very worst part was the boredom. She hadn't realized that she could get bored during her own kidnapping, but she managed it. She had even managed to go from being angry to bored to being angry about being so damned bored.

She passed the time contemplating the situation. She tried to plan her escape, considering every scenario that she could come up with. She wondered what Arthur, Yusuf, and Eames were doing, wondered if they would try to come after her, or if they even could come after her. She tried to think about what she would say if – no, not "if" but "when" – when she saw them again, and for the millionth time, she wondered how things had gone so very wrong.

Eventually, she even wondered how difficult it would be for her to tango with this nasty gouge in her side. After a mental run-through of the choreography, she didn't like the conclusions.

It was at this point that Ariadne's wandering train of thought was interrupted by the sound of someone unlocking the door.


	13. Chapter 13 Out of the Woods

**Author's Note: Oh, dear God, I'm so tired even my teeth hurt. I've put in some seriously late nights to get this to you as soon as possible, so now that my finals are over and I've finished this chapter, I will go spend some quality time with my pillow. I haven't seen much of it in the last week, and it might think I don't love it anymore. You know that point that you get to your third all-nighter in a week where it's become difficult to relax enough to go to sleep? I am so totally there. Fortunately, my very lovely beta reader, Nae-nae, has been kind enough to go though my chapter and point out the bits that were a product of sleep deprived ramblings. There were quite a few. Thanks for all the very kind wishes for good results on my finals. We'll see how that turns out. Eventually I would like to do a sequel for this story, I've had so much fun writing it, but first I'll need some ideas about where it ought to go. Is there anything that you would like to see after this? Any future adventures that my (Chris Nolan's) lovely little characters ought to have next? The fact that I'm about to finish this story is rather amazing, as I have lots and lots of half-developed, half-written, not at all in order stories of which nothing ever came. Anyway, I will stop rambling. Oh, look, my bed! You're on your own from here.**

**-Ballerina Terminator**

* * *

Chapter 13 - Out of the Woods

Ariadne quickly reached down and slid the ceiling tile just below her back into its slot and then held her breath just before she heard the door to the tiny room open. In the moment of silence that followed, Ariadne could only imagine what might be going though the mind of the person opening the door. They would be, she knew, opening the door to find no sign that she had ever even been there except perhaps a few drops of blood. She had been curious, even excited, to find out what the reaction would be to her Houdini imitation. She was certain that this wasn't sensible of her, but she couldn't help it.

To her dark satisfaction, she heard the voice of Pratt, in deep tones of horror, ask, "Where is she?"

"What?" This was a second, unfamiliar voice.

"Where is the girl?" Pratt practically shrieked. "It is not a complicated question! She was here at one when I put her in here, so where the hell is she?"

"She has to be here! We've had someone posted in the hallway all night!"

"Then how about you be so kind as to point her out to me?" Pratt snapped with seething sarcasm. "Because I can't seem to pick her out!"

There was a stuttering followed by a smack and a cry of pain.

"Take everyone! She couldn't have breached the perimeter without setting off alarms! Search everywhere from the ground up! EVERYONE! The building is opening in less than five minutes so get moving! I want people on every floor! "

She heard the swift exit of the second man, and then she heard Pratt absolutely lose it. She listened aghast as the quiet, timid man scream incoherently in rage. This was, she realized with amazement, a man that was not just as nutty as a fruitcake. There was an entire pecan orchard's worth of nuts involved here. This man was not just a little screw loose. As far as she could tell, the screws, the nails, and the bolts were completely missing from the machinery.

She had to do something. She couldn't just go on sitting there forever. Holding her breath, Ariadne very carefully lifted the edge of the ceiling tile just below her. She shifted it just enough so that she could see down into the little room where Edward Pratt still stood breathing his temper tantrum died down. It occurred to her that this might be the best chance that she would have of escaping, and she couldn't afford to pass it up.

As quietly as she could manage, she moved the ceiling tile completely away, and dropped back down into the room, using Pratt to break her fall. She let out a bit of a shriek as he crumpled under her, and as he went down, he also fell forward until his head made hard contact with the wall with a loud thump. Ariadne rolled away from him quickly and muscles that she recently thought might never work again allowed her to scramble to her feet and prepare to defend herself from Pratt, but as she stood, poised to counter any attack, she began to realize that Pratt wasn't moving. He lay there, face down, between her and the open door.

For a long moment, Ariadne watched him for any signs that he might come to. Finally, she let out the breath of air that she hadn't realized that she had been holding and crept towards the door. She carefully moved around Pratt, careful not to touch him, and peered out into the space beyond.

The door led out into a small office, very much like the one where they had first met with Pratt in the Shaw building, and it was probably safe to assume that she was in the Shaw building now, judging by the make-up of the office. The door leading to the hallway stood half open, and as far as Ariadne could see, there was no one in sight. But there wouldn't be, Ariadne reasoned, if they were all on lower levels of the building. If she gave them a few minutes to move up to higher floors, she could take the elevator down to the ground floor and get out then. She didn't know how she would get out of the building unnoticed once she achieved the ground level, especially considering what a sight she must make, but that was something that she would have to worry about if she got that far.

She took a couple of hesitant steps into the office, when hands gripped her ankles and she gasped as her feet were pulled back and out from under her and she fell to the floor. She twisted around in panic to see Pratt, still lying on the ground, his arms extended out to where his cold fingers digging into the skin of her legs. He glared at her with cold, hard, emotionless eyes, his face covered in the scrapes and scabs which had been the result of her fight with him the night before.

Ariadne kicked as hard as she could to try to break his hold on her, but he held her so tightly that her legs hardly moved. He kept his grip on her and, despite her struggles, began to pull her back into the little room with him, away from freedom, away from Yusuf, Eames, and Arthur.

Suddenly, the panic that had been threatening to overwhelm her disappeared, and that was when Ariadne stopped struggling to get away. Ariadne's sudden reverse of momentum took Pratt completely off guard. Pulling out the jagged piece of glass, she twisted around to where she could grab a fistful of hair. Ariadne tilted his head back so that she could look him squarely in the eye.

In complete contradiction to what his experiences told him to expect, the girl in his grasp was regarding him with an expression that one might reserve for a cockroach that was about to be crushed under foot. What Ariadne did next had very little to do with any kind of plan or mental process; it wouldn't have if she had thought about it. She took the jagged edge of the piece of glass and jabbed it into Pratt's hand as hard as she could, and she felt it sink in deep.

Pratt screamed and the hand that had been stabbed released its grip on her ankle

With one foot free and still with a firm grip on his head, Ariadne kicked hard into Pratt's face, causing him to release any grip that he still had on her. She wriggled out of his reach, grabbed for the door handle, and tried to slam it shut just as Pratt tried to jump out at her. The result was Pratt getting his head struck first by the door and then again when the first blow sent his forehead bouncing off the door frame before he went limp. The cracking sound that getting his head slammed in a closing door made was cringe-worthy, and the dent in the back of Pratt's skull that had begun to ooze blood was enough to convince Ariadne that this time, Pratt wasn't faking unconsciousness. That did not keep her from shoving Pratt's unresisting form back into the tiny room out of the way of the door and then closing and locking the door with the key that had been left in the door.

Then, Ariadne, sinking to the floor, let out a sigh of relief.

* * *

It was a quarter after eight when Arthur and Eames strode up to the reception desk of the ground floor of the financial company's building.

"I'm Arthur Hamilton, and I have an appointment with Mr. Shaw."

"Yes, Mr. Hamilton, but I believe that you're appointment isn't until nine."

"Something has come up, and we will need to see him as soon as possible. It is of the utmost urgency."

"I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. Shaw hasn't come in yet. He must be running late today."

"I understand. We will wait for him."

"Of course, sir. It'll be the fourth floor, and the elevators are just over there."

"Thank you."

* * *

It took a moment for Ariadne to catch her breath and get a hold of herself. Her mind was still racing with adrenaline, but she had regained her bearings. The window in the office which showed her a view to the southwest had helped her determine her orientation within the building. She racked her brain for any detail of the floor plan of the building that she could recall from her only two previous visits to the building. Just outside the office, the hallway stretched out forward one way and out to the left. She could see down the forward hallway that there was a turn off that if she had figured correctly, should lead her to the elevators.

Ariadne glanced around before she crept out of the office and down the hallway. Then, Ariadne's good fortune petered out and died. Half way to the adjoining hallway that would have lead her to the elevators, one of the doors along the hallway opened and a man at least twice Ariadne's size and more than a foot taller than she was stepped out and blocked her path. One look at his face made it clear to Ariadne that she was not about to make a friend. She tried to turn and run, but she didn't get very far before a hand grabbed her by the hair and dragged her backward.

* * *

Once the elevator doors had closed behind them, Eames pulled out Shaw's pass card, inserted it into the slot on the panel above the floor buttons, and hit the button for the fifth floor. When the doors opened on the fifth floor, they were standing to either side of the door so to anyone looking in, the elevator would appear empty. When, after a moment, they heard no movement, they peered around carefully, guns drawn. There was no one there.

Hesitantly, guns still ready, they moved further in, looking for any reaction.

"It's not that I'm complaining, but I rather expected more response than this. Where's the security that we were going to see?" Eames asked. Arthur shook his head, still glancing around as though he expected armed men to melt out of the walls.

"Well, I'm going to go pick up some things from the server," Eames said. "It's just around this corner. I'll catch up with you and Ariadne as soon as I'm done."

Arthur turned down one stretch of the corridor and strode off quickly. He had memorized the floor plan that they had extracted, so he knew where she would be held, so it was something of a surprise to him when he turned the last corner on the way to his destination and saw her. Unfortunately, he found her in a very precarious position, pinned against the wall, held a foot off the ground by a huge man with his hand wrapped around her throat.

The memory of what Ariadne had done next was one that Arthur would cherish long into his twilight years, but only after the terrors of the experience were over. Ariadne pried and clawed desperately at the fingers pressing into her jugular with little result, and in desperation, she swung out a punch, not at the man's face, but at his throat.

It was not a great punch as punches go, hindered as she was by her position, but neither was it ineffective. It is the natural reaction of the body to protect the throat in the event of injury, and that was exactly what the man holding her did. Dropping her to the floor, he grabbed at his throat, doubled over and coughing hard. Arthur didn't even hesitate; he struck the back of the man's head with the butt of the pistol, and he crumpled to the ground.

Arthur dropped down next to Ariadne who, after pushing herself up from the floor, had slumped back against the wall, still gasping for air. Arthur wrapped his arms around her and held her steady until her breathing slowed to normal, and she looked up at him with bleary eyes.

"You… you're here? Why are you here?" she demanded in an almost accusatory tone. He almost smiled.

"I'm here to rescue you," he said carefully. The obvious answer seemed to focus her a bit.

"Oh, right," she replied in a tone that showed her awareness of the inane nature of her question.

He actually had to suppress his smile then. It wasn't too hard. He had started examining the gash in her brow around which purple blotches of bruising had begun to appear. Dried blood covered her face and matted her hair. With a finger under her chin, he guided the tilt of her head first one way then the other before continuing on. His eyes scanned down her body until he got to the blood stain on her side. He returned his gaze to her face and met her eyes, which were watching him intently.

"May I?" he asked, ever the gentleman, making a small gesture to the blood-stained shirt. She nodded her ascent, and he gently lifted the edge of the shirt just enough to allow him to make an examination of her impromptu bandaging, his expression remaining completely impassive until he lowered the shirt again.

"Can you tell me what you're doing in the hallway?" he asked.

She looked at him with slight incredulity. "Escaping," she said, as though answering to the color of the sky.

"Ah, I see," he replied, raising his eyebrows, and glancing back at the fallen goon.

"I was doing pretty well," she said defensively. "Besides, you should see Pratt," she said with just hint of a boast and offered up a small key.

His expression changed undisguised astonishment. She shifted her eyes to the door she had left. He carefully helped her regain the support of the wall and stood. Taking out his gun, he moved to the doorway that she had indicated with her eyes. After scanning the room, he unlocked the door to the closet and, with his gun raise, he pushed open the door. It swung back about a foot before hitting a barrier. Arthur looked down at the prone figure of Pratt. He knelt down and placed his fingers to his jugular and noted a very weak pulse. He stood up again, and quickly returned to Ariadne.

"Escaping," he agreed, kneeling back down. "Well, you certainly seem to be doing a fine job, but might I be permitted to escort you the short remainder of the way?"

"Please."

"Thank you. Now, may I help you up? Do you think you can walk?" She did not answer immediately, but rather drew her golden bishop from her pocket, placed it on the thin carpet, and watched as it fell over. Then, she looked up at him.

"I can walk," she informed him, pushing herself up from the floor. He leapt to assist her to her feet. He then slid off his jacket, helped her on with it, and offered her his arm. She cautiously wrapped her arm around his.

"We're going to need to move quickly; we've already lingered here too long. Lean on me as much as you have too. Now, let's go find Eames."

As Arthur began to lead her back the way he had come, Ariadne made a point of stepping on the fingers of the man lying on the floor as they went passed.

When they had gone only a few steps when Eames came running up to them then, a portable hard drive in his hand.

"Hello, Ariadne, did you miss us? My goodness, aren't you a sight! Worked you over pretty good, didn't they darling?"

"Eames," Arthur said pointedly, "We really need to get going. Did you run into any trouble?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," he said dismissively.

"Well come on." Eames led the way to the elevators, but instead of hitting the button to call the elevator, they headed to the door to the emergency stairwell, and Arthur pulled the fire alarm next to the door. Loud sirens began to ring and emergency lights began to flicker up and down the hallway. Eames took up Ariadne's other arm, and they all took to the stairs.

By the fourth floor, the stairwell had begun to fill with office workers, and, by the second floor, the stairway was already becoming congested. When they came out on the ground floor, they matched the calm, unconcerned pace of those around them and headed out into the parking lot. Then, dropping Ariadne's arm, Eames strolled a little ahead of Arthur and Ariadne and opened the back passenger side door of a dark green sedan. In a swift movement, Arthur plucked Ariadne up and dropped into the back seat with her in his arms. Eames closed the door behind them and got into the front passenger side.

"Hit it, Yusuf," he said, pulling his seat belt across him. Yusuf put the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot, keeping a moderate speed.

After a couple of minutes, Eames turned to look out the back window and satisfied himself as to the fact that they had not picked up a tail. He shifted his gaze to Arthur who was holding onto Ariadne as though afraid she might disappear. Ariadne was stretched out across the back seat with her head leaned upon Arthur's chest. He had his arms wrapped around her tightly, and he rested one cheek on the top of her head. Eames turned back to the front quickly, feeling as though he had intruded on a private moment. He couldn't even find it within himself to want to harass a man with a look on his face like the one Arthur had.

It was ultimately Ariadne who broke the silence. "Hey, guys?"

"Yes, love?" Eames said.

"I don't want to sound ungrateful, but would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

"You don't know?" Yusuf asked.

"No, I don't know! I was just sitting there, waiting for the timers to run out, and then suddenly Pratt wakes up. He waits until I had turned around, and he just… just hit me. I didn't really have the time to ask why."

"You were a hostage," Arthur said quietly.

"Hostage?" she asked as though trying out an unfamiliar word.

"During the extraction, we found out that Vimes isn't just a businessman, but undercover FBI, and he's been looking for evidence to corroborate rumors that Shaw has been running a human trafficking ring, using philanthropy as a front. When Pratt discovered that we didn't plan to hand over the information that we had found on Vimes, he pulled himself out of the dream. We didn't know he had woken up until we found his body in the dream," Eames explained.

"And how did this translate into taking me?" Ariadne asked, still trying to process all of this.

"Without the information that we knew about Vimes, they were still in the dark about what kind of position they were in. They know how to deal with him until they knew what they were up against," Arthur explained. "You were a bargaining chip for the information."

"You didn't give it to them, did you?" she cried, starting upright.

"No, no," he said soothingly. "We just came after you."

Ariadne considered this. After a while, she spoke again. "They're going to come after us, aren't they?"

"Oh, I've got that taken care of," Eames said. "Don't you worry about that, love. However, it is still a prudent idea to get the hell out of dodge, so to speak."

"Well, first we're going to give you a chance to clean up, and then I will be taking a look at some of the battle wounds you've collected," Yusuf said firmly. "We're going to get a room near the airport until it's time for our flight."

Suddenly, something occurred to Ariadne, and it horrified her. "I can't go home like this! Miles will take one look at me, and he'll never let me within a mile of an extraction job again!" Then, something else occurred to her. "Oh, God, Marie-Claude! She won't ever let me out of the house again!"

"Calm down, woman! We've got four tickets to London for a six o'clock flight," Eames announced. "We're going to visit my dear old mum, and she will let you stay as long as you want. She'll make you stay for Christmas if you give her half a chance."

"Don't worry," Arthur said. "We've got everything taken care of."

Ariadne visibly relaxed. "Thank you," she replied, smiling softly, "and thank you for coming after me." She leaned her head back down on his chest, and he gave her a brushing peck on the forehead. Arthur, suddenly finding himself completely at a loss for words, hugged her tightly.

* * *

Yusuf picked a motel near the airport at random, and Eames had acquired a room while the others waited patiently in the car. As Arthur walked with her to the door of the room, Ariadne let her long hair fall in a curtain around her, shielding her face from the view of anyone that might happen to pass by. Her suitcase was brought in for her. As she entered the room, she caught sight of a mirror hanging from the wall. She crept toward it, as though afraid that her reflection might jump out at her. She pushed back her curtain of hair clumsily, the cuffs of Arthur's jacket extending well past her wrists, and, after a minor cringe, she leaned in closer and regarded herself with an objective eye to assess the damage.

Face and hair: caked with blood, but mostly not her blood, though, so that was okay.

Left eye: purple and swollen half shut, but that would go away eventually.

Cut on her forehead: not so big or so deep as she had imagined, but stitches were unavoidable.

Her shirt: beyond salvaging, more dried-blood brown than sky blue at this point. Really, there was no point in saving any of what she was wearing. It would all have to go.

Over all: bloody, sweaty, and grimy.

"How long until our flight?" she asked Arthur.

"Several hours."

"Good, I need it. I am revolting. I'm going to have a shower, and I'm not getting out until I feel fit to be seen in public."

* * *

After Ariadne disappeared into the bathroom, Eames left to take care of one last thing before they could leave the country. An hour later, Eames walked back into the bedroom where they had last left Augustus Shaw. He was still tied to the bed and gagged, just as they had left him. When he saw Eames walk back in, he began to struggle against his restraints and produce muffled shrieks.

"I'm glad to see you too!" Eames exclaimed heartily, placing a stack of papers on the nightstand. "Although, I must say, I've been looking through some of your files, and my, have you been up to no good." More muffled squeals of rage came from Shaw. "Oh, don't be like that. I know that this has been awfully inconvenient for you, but don't worry, we wouldn't leave you here all tied up. Just as soon as I leave, there will be someone to come help you out, which reminds me, I should give them a call."

Eames flipped open a small pre-paid cell phone that had been bought during the course of the night and hit a number. Raising the phone to his ear, he smiled broadly as someone picked up on the other end. "Hello? Oh, FBI Agent Vimes, I'm so glad to speak with you. It's one of your friends from last night."

Shaw's eyes bulged in panic.

"That's right," Eames continued. "Mm-hmm. Yes. Oh, not at all, our pleasure. Actually, Agent Vimes, I was actually calling to deliver a rather lovely Christmas present. Yes, yes. It's, er, trussed up right here in front of me, though you might want to bring some friends to come help you get it. Mm-hm. The address is 611 Parksview Ave. Why, yes, that _is_ Mr. Shaw's address! Oh, come now, Agent Vimes, you've gone and spoiled the surprise. Yes, Mr. Shaw is right here. Oh, I'm afraid he just can't speak to you—he's a little tied up right now, but there's nice big lovely stack of papers sitting here with him that I know you will be thrilled to read. Quite a page-turner. Mm-hm. Mm-hm. Oh, now, you don't have to get me anything, it's all in the spirit of Christmas, my dear chap. You're on your way? Splendid. Happy Christmas!"

Eames snapped the phone shut and placed the stack of papers on the bed next to Shaw. Humming "Oh Come, All Ye Faithful" under his breath, he produced a bright red wrapping bow, peeled the sticker from the back, and smacked it on Shaw's forehead, studiously ignoring the infuriated roars coming from behind the gag. Shaw rocked from side to side, trying to dislodge it.

"Now, Mr. Shaw," Eames admonished, "That can't be good for your blood pressure. Why don't you sit back and relax? You've still got about four minutes till the FBI arrives." He gave a little wave as he left the room. "Happy Christmas!"

* * *

Yusuf was greatly relieved when Ariadne emerged from the bathroom two hours later. He knew that Arthur's sister was considerably younger than he was, so he was unfamiliar with the unfathomable lengths of time women could spend in a bathroom, and to be quite frank, the man's fidgeting was getting on Yusuf's nerves.

Washed free of blood and dirt, Ariadne's injuries proved to be significantly less gruesome than they had first appeared. Her damp curls hung around her, cleaned and combed through, and she stood in fresh clothing and declared herself to be worn out, but definitely feeling better and ready to be stitched up. Her brightened mood was dampened considerably when Yusuf broke the news that he had no anesthetic.

When Eames walked back into the room, Ariadne was stretched out on the far bed with her head at the foot of the bed, her hair draped over the edge, dripping onto the carpet. Yusuf sat in a chair next to her head, stitching up the cut on her brow. Arthur sat on the bed next to her, holding her hand. Ariadne laid very still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, but her expression and her white-knuckle grip on Arthur's hand betrayed her serious discomfort.

It was Arthur's discomfort that interested Eames as he plopped down on the other bed to watch. Every time the needle went into the skin, Ariadne made a slight noise of distress in the back of her throat, and Eames could see the muscle in Arthur's jaw tighten. From the bandage peeking out from under the hem on her shirt, Eames decided that the opening in her side had already received the same treatment. When Yusuf announced the completion on the operation while setting down the tweezers and needle in the tray just behind him, Eames couldn't help grinning at the way the two that he kept referring to in his head as "the lovebirds" relaxed but continued to hold the other's hand. They were, he was sure, going to become sickeningly maudlin. He just hoped to God it would make Arthur less uptight.

Ariadne continued to lay still as Yusuf dabbed Neosporin onto over the stitches and placed the bandage over them, running a finger around the edges to ensure its remaining in place. When he had finished his work, she leaned her head to her right towards Arthur and Eames. With her head in this attitude, he could see the fingerprint bruises on her neck, but he could also see that, over all, she had sustained only very minor injuries and was not in poor spirits as her next comment showed.

"Yusuf says that, if I am lucky, I will have lovely battle scars to show off," she told him brightly. She said this with such a cool demeanor, it caught Eames off-guard. When he saw the corners of her mouth curve up in a wicked smile, his grin returned, and he started to chuckle. She glanced up at Arthur and seemed relieved to see him return her smile.

"Let's get ready to go," Yusuf called as he finished packing up his medic kit. It seemed to bring them both back from their own private world, and Arthur changed his hold on her hand to help her up. As he moved off to grab the jacket of his suit which she had left in the bathroom, she walked over to the mirror and examined her reflection critically, tilting her head left and right assessing the results of the repair work. She picked up her scarf and carefully wrapped it around her neck in such a way as to cover the bruising to her satisfaction. She shrugged on her corduroy jacket and went off to repack her things.

* * *

An hour later found them walking into check in area for British Airlines. After handing their passports to Eames, he went to stand in line while the others took a seat on the nearby benches.

"I'm afraid that we won't be going first class," Arthur said apologetically. "We purchased these a little last minute."

"You know that up until I was hired for the inception, I had never before flown first class. I imagine that I'll survive." She smiled at him encouragingly and patted his hand. Eames returned to them sooner than expected and handed each their passport along with their ticket.

"I'm afraid we're a bit scattered around the cabin," he informed them, "but we have a few hours before our flight. Let's get through security and grab something to eat. I realized that not a one of us has eaten since yesterday."

It was with this goal in mind that they lined up together in the security line with socked and bare feet. The silver case went through with Arthur as delicate medical equipment along with a note written on hospital letterhead bearing a London address. He went through with only a brief pause during which the security officer scrutinized the note while Arthur stood with an air of amicable patience. He smiled graciously and thanked the man as he handed back the letter and waved him on. After shoes had been replaced on feet, a bar that sported half a dozen televisions on various surfaces and a decent menu was chosen from the throng of small eateries that lined the corridors. When they were seated at a table, Eames bought Ariadne a drink in exchange for her agreeing to regale them with a tale of her harrowing adventure which had provided her with her impressive battle wounds.

"And I don't want any modesty either," he warned. "I already know that you were halfway to escaping by the time we arrived. Do not spare our feelings, darling."

"I'm not so sure about halfway," she said ruefully. "It was really a lot of effort just to get twenty paces from where I started."

"What did I say about modesty?"

"Fine, so I woke up in what I think was a storage closet. It was a little big to be a broom closet, but-"

"No, before that. What happened in the hotel room? You obviously didn't go peacefully, and if you 'woke up' in that building, you have just informed us that you didn't even go consciously," Eames insisted. "You, my dear, put up a fight, and I for one want to hear about it."

Ariadne couldn't immediately respond as she remembered the terror she had felt when she had looked up to see Pratt standing over her. She looked down at the drink in her hand and bit her lip. Her eyes flickered to Arthur who was studying his own drink with the stony look on his face that he had worn when he had first looked over her injuries. She saw guilt flickered over Eames's face, as he began to regret his last statement.

Yusuf put a hand on Ariadne's elbow. "You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to," he said quietly. This, however, had the opposite effect of what he had intended. If she had been honest, she would have said that she didn't even want to think about being attacked by Pratt, but even more than that, she didn't want the nervous tension that infused the atmosphere whenever anything she said or did made them worry about her, and it certainly wasn't going to take much to make them worry.

"I don't mind," she said, forcing her voice to be light. "I'm just afraid you'll be a bit ashamed of me. I shouldn't have let him sneak up on me like he did. If I had been paying attention, he wouldn't have had the chance. After that, it all happened so fast that it's kind of hard to remember. I was trying so hard to get over to where you were, not a whole lot stands out. Although, I did break the glass over his head, and that bled a lot. After that, I nearly did get to you before he grabbed me and dragged me away again. After that, he got me pinned down and…" Ariadne cut short, aware about how bad her last sentence was beginning to sound and decided it was better not to finish that thought. "Anyway, I really do think that the chloroform was not playing fair." She added a little laugh but could tell that her audience wasn't buying it.

"Anyway, what I'd really wish to tell you is how very clever I am," she said, genuinely happy to move on to the later events that comprised her 'adventures' over the past night. "I want to know which of you would like guess how one disappears from a locked room with no windows." The comment had the desired effect. An exceedingly self-satisfied, and completely candid, smile spread across her face as the as the young men all turned to quizzical expression, their concern momentarily forgotten. With obvious pride, she began by describing her acrobatic climb into the drop ceiling and concluded with her tangle with the man that was two times her size. "Of course, Arthur did drop him, but you have to admit," she said turning to him for collaboration. "I did make it easy for you."

Arthur nodded his concurrence. "Truly, you left little for me to do."

"I must admit," she said with a smile, pleased with the lightened atmosphere, "I was so relieved to see you. God knows, I had no idea what I was doing or what I intended to do next. I had no concept of the floor plan, or really anything…" She trailed off, distracted by the television affixed high on a wall of the restaurant about twenty feet from their table.

Slowly, she slid from her chair and wandered over to stand in front of the large flat-screen playing a national news broadcast. The clip that played across the screen was of a very disheveled Shaw being led from his house in handcuffs by two FBI men, one whom Ariadne recognized as Vimes. The clip changed to an aerial view of the building that she recognized as the one she had been held in, the parking lot now covered in squad cars and people in FBI jackets.

Ariadne raised her hand to her mouth as she listened to the anchor detail the charges under which Shaw was being arrested and declared the company's assets to be frozen. The view of the building was suddenly obscured by a photo of Pratt who, the anchor went on to describe, had been found in the building and was in critical care but was under investigation. Another, less injured man who had yet to be identified had also been found in the building. A number of the employees of Shaw Financial Company were being detained for questioning.

Ariadne turned to find Arthur standing at her shoulder, watching her carefully, as though afraid of how she might react. She stared up at him in wide-eyed astonishment.

"Oh, my God, Arthur. What did you _do_?"

"That man had you beaten and kidnapped; you didn't think we'd let him walk away from this, did you?" he said more harshly than he had intended.

Her eyes got even wider. "So you just brought down an entire company _overnight_?" She exclaimed. " I think I need to sit down again." He helped her back to her seat.

"Well, boys," Ariadne said when she had regained her seat. "This is somewhat humbling. It turns out that not only did you storm the castle for me, but afterwards you had it razed to the ground!" She glanced around at her companions in disbelief. "Good God and I thought that I was being clever!"

Ariadne became intensely aware that they were watching her warily, as though unsure if their actions were meeting with disapproval. Amusement and frustration with her companions fought for emotional supremacy in Ariadne. Amusement won, for the most part.

"Boys," she said, trying not to laugh, "that may be the sweetest thing that anyone has ever done for me. I don't think that many girls can say that they have had someone come to their defense by destroying a corrupt company."

"Really, Ariadne, what else could we do?" Eames said defensively.

"Look, I'm not complaining," she insisted. "It's just breathtaking that in the process of saving me, you decided it worth it to destroy an entire corporation to do so, and then _you did_." She beamed at them with a mixture of amusement and affection. "Hell's bells, guys! What are we doing to tomorrow? Bring down a dictatorship in a developing nation, perhaps?"

"Well, they did make it kind of easy," Eames said nonchalantly. "Considering what they were involved in. We do extract secrets after all; it's in the job title. We just happened to do a little pro bono job for the FBI."

When the waitress brought their check, Arthur took care of the bill, and they headed to their departure gate. Half an hour later, as they stood in line to board the plane, Arthur was surprised when Eames took his ticket from his hand, and then handed Arthur his own.

"Why…?" Arthur began to inquire, but Eames gave a subtle shake of his head. Arthur gave him a confused glance before handing the ticket to the attendant at the gate to scan. She handed it back to him, and he following Ariadne onto the ramp. He had followed her to her seat with the intention of helping her with her luggage before looking at his new seat number. He checked the numbers of the surrounding seats, and then he understood. He looked further up the cabin to where Eames was placing luggage in the overhead compartment. Arthur caught his eye briefly before taking the seat next to Ariadne.

She sat next to the window and his was the only seat between her and the aisle. As the airplane taxied onto the runway, Ariadne leaned back into her seat with her eyes closed, and for the first time since she had gotten out of the company building, Arthur saw her completely relax. After a moment's hesitation, he placed his hand over hers where it lay on the armrest and gave it a light squeeze. Her eyes flickered open, and she smiled up at him, but she looked completely exhausted.

It was some time after the plane had been airborne before Ariadne broke the silence.

"So, what do we do now? I mean, I haven't really thought about it before, but what do we do if a job doesn't pan out?"

"Well, it all depends. Sometimes, an extraction is unsuccessful or the subject doesn't know what you're trying to find out. A reasonable client will either let you try again or they may chose to terminate your contract. An unreasonable client may try to terminate you. You know that Cobb and I had prices on our heads when we met you because of the botched job with Cobol."

Ariadne nodded. "What do you do then?"

"Find a way to work it out, or stay out of the way. After the inception job, Saito dealt with Cobol for us as he said he would. I for one, actually can't go to Bolivia, courtesy of a job two years ago, and I believe Eames has a running price on his head in three or four countries, last time I counted—though I can't promise those all had to do with extraction."

"And when everything goes to hell?"

"Run and make sure you go where they can't follow," he said darkly.

"Or destroy them completely?"

"Shaw isn't in much of a position to be a threat any longer," Arthur admitted.

"Could we get in trouble with the FBI?"

"Unlikely. Vimes will be the only person that knows anything about us, and he's not likely to bear a grudge."

"Will this make it harder for us to find new jobs?"

"At this point, it's a publicity war. Well, when this gets out, and it will, we will need to make sure that our version of events is the one that is heard. I'll get in touch with people I know, Eames and Yusuf will do the same. I'll call Cobb and get him to make some calls on our behalf. It shouldn't be hard. We have a considerable advantage over Shaw seeing as he won't be able to do much networking while in custody, and he is getting a hell of a lot of bad press at the moment."

"What will you say?"

"Pretty much what happened. They created their own mess by backstabbing the extraction team they hired to work for them and then assaulting and kidnapping the Architect that had done nothing but design the dream."

"Petite, young, and innocent Architect," Ariadne corrected. "You might as well throw in a bit of pathos. You'd do well to knock a few years off my age and play up the scared and defenseless angle in the telling. Don't overdo it though. I don't want people thinking that I'm a wimp."

"Ruthless is what you are," he informed her. "But you make excellent points. Another consequence of this is that clients will be very hesitant to cross us if they fear retribution."

" 'Don't pick on our Architect or we'll make you sorry- remember what happened to the last guy' kind of thing?"

"That's pretty much the idea."

Ariadne was quiet for a few minutes as she digested this new information. The drinks cart came and went before she continued.

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

Ariadne spoke as if the words were being dragged out of her. "You still want me to be your Architect, right?"

"Do you still want to be?"

"Of course, I do!"

"Ariadne, you've just been assaulted, kidnapped, forced to fight your way out of a building crawling with security, and you're telling me that you still want to work in extraction?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Arthur, I'm not going to say that the last twenty-four hours was a barrel of laughs. To be quite frank, I'd really rather not do that ever again, but look at it this way. I just gave as good as I got in a bare-knuckle fight with a man half again my size putting him in critical care, escaped my captors through ingenuity, was rescued from the building crawling with security by three of the best friends that I've ever had, and you are asking me why I still want to work in extraction?"

"Weren't you scared?"

"Like you wouldn't believe! I was afraid that Pratt hurt you or killed you after I had been knocked out. I was terrified that I would never see you again. I was scared that you wouldn't come after me!"

"You really thought that we wouldn't try to rescue you? That we would just leave you?" he asked, horrified that she could think it possible.

"I said that I was afraid, Arthur. I didn't say that all of my fears were based in logic."

"You weren't frightened about what might happen to you?"

"I'm not saying that it didn't cause me some concern, but compared to the rest, it wasn't nearly as hard to handle. Let me ask you something. Were you, at any time in the last twenty-four hours, afraid?"

Arthur hesitated before nodding.

"Do you want to quit extracting?"

"No," he admitted.

"Well, then, why should I have to?" Ariadne asked defensively.

Arthur didn't respond to this, as they were interrupted by the flight attendant who had come to offer drinks. Arthur raised an eyebrow when she asked for coffee.

"What?"

"Aren't you tired?" he asked.

"Yes, but I'm not very good at sleeping sitting up, and leaning back two inches does not constitute lying down." She took a sip of coffee. "I have a tendency to fall over if I fall asleep sitting up."

Arthur reached over and plucked the coffee from her fingers. "You are about to fall over anyway," he said setting the cup down on the tray in front of her. He pushed the armrest between them out of the way. She was pulled into the arms of the man next to her.

"Get some sleep, Ari."


	14. Chapter 14 The World Shifts

**Author's Note:**

**Dear Santa (and other readers), In lieu of cookies and milk I am leaving you this, the last chapter of my story. Instead of presents, I would like reviews for Christmas. As you know, I have been a good girl this year, updating my story with regularity, using proper grammer and puncuation, and in general, treating the English language with respect. Thanks and Merry Christmas! Love, Ballerina Terminator**

**Seriously folks, I really hope that you've enjoyed the story. For all of you wonderful people who have added this to a Favorite Story list, I hope that my final chapter holds up to what you have come to expect. For all of you very kind people who have done me the honor of putting me on Author Alert, I hope to start on a sequel soon, but remember, while I had this all posted in less than 55 days, I've been working on it for nearly six months so don't expect anything too soon. I will, however, do my best. For anyone who has ever reviewed or every does review, you are really the bestest. There really is nothing quite like waking up the morning after I've posted a chapter and seeing how many reviews I've gotten while I slept. It's like Christmas every time. (I broke 100 reviews! Whoohoo!) For all my other readers, I very much hope that you enjoyed the reading the story. I really loved writing it. I'm posting on what is Christmas Eve for me so that Chapter 14 will be my Christmas present to all of you.**

**Merry Christmas everyone!**

**-Ballerina Terminator**

**P.S. For all of you that wished me luck on my finals, thank you so much. It's kind of nice to remember mid-microbiology final that there were people all over the world who wished me well on the test. I'm sorry I didn't thank you sooner.**

Chapter Fourteen – The World Shifts

Arthur knew that Ariadne didn't get much in the way of proper sleep. He could tell her side was hurting her, and even doubling the area provide by an airplane seat still didn't provide anything near enough space to sleep in any great comfort under the best of circumstances. Nevetheless, he at least had the satisfaction of seeing that she was allowed to drop off to sleep for the occasional half hour. He also had the satisfaction of having her very close to him which he continued to find very comforting after the events of the previous twenty-four hours.

They said very little to each other during the intermissions in her sleep. Only once, when she awoke in a panic, did Arthur say more than a few sentences. He calmed her as quietly as he could, although none of the passengers around them were awake enough to notice her sudden alarm. She calmed quickly, but at her request, he helped her to her feet, and she disappeared off to the restroom.

He watched as, on her way back, she was stopped by Eames. Arthur couldn't see Eames, but he saw Ariadne's expression become a mixture of indignation and embarrassment. She gave him a swat on the arm before quickly returning to her seat. Arthur watched her roll her bishop between her palms after she sat down before gripping it tightly in one hand.

"What did Eames say?"

Ariadne blushed again. "Oh, nothing important," she said. "And completely inappropriate. What time is it?" It was evasion, but he could hardly blame her for not wanting to repeat something Eames had said.

"Greenwich Mean or Eastern U.S.?"

"Oh. Um… I didn't even think about the time zones. When are we supposed to land in Heathrow?"

"It'll be around five in the morning. We have less than an hour before we land."

Sure enough, it was at that time that the flight attendant came on the P.A. system and announced that a small meal would be served before landing.

* * *

After coming into Heathrow, the group made their way through customs. Eames went through much more quickly in the line for citizens and waited for the other three to shuffle through. From the Heathrow Airport, they took the a very long trip on the Underground to the further outskirts of London, and from there a short taxi ride to end up on the door step of Eames's mother's house , tired and bedraggled, by a quarter to nine in the morning.

"Now I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but you ought to know before we go in," Eames said. "The moment you step inside my mum's house, she will consider you as her own child and treat you as such. Why she feels compelled to do so, I have no idea, but she has my whole life and probably before that. Just so you know, your parents will be lucky if they ever get you back."

Ariadne waved a dismissive hand. "I don't have any parents to be given back to," she said sleepily. She looked ready to fall over.

"Well, if you don't want her trying to adopt you, I wouldn't mention that fact," Eames told her.

"As long as that includes a bed, I don't think I'd mind."

"Also, don't bother trying to lie or give an evasive answer, or even tell a partial truth. She will know. Every time. It's like a super power. The woman doesn't need extraction. So, when she asks about what we've been up to, you might as well go with the whole truth, so help you God."

"Will she ask about what we've been up to?" Yusuf asked.

"When we show up with Ariadne here all black and blue and stitched up? Are you kidding?" He asked incredulously as he knocked on the door.

A moment later, the door was opened by a pretty, blonde woman late in middle age, who strongly resembled the young man looking down on her. Her face broke into the wide smile at the sight of him and wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Phillip, darling, why didn't you tell me you were coming? And with friends too! Come inside everyone. There's no reason to freeze out here on the door step."

They ambled inside after her, and, abandoning coats and luggage just inside the front door, they followed her into a large kitchen with a breakfast table.

Just before going in, Arthur shot Eames a dirty look and hissed, "You didn't tell your mother that she was about to have four house guests?"

Eames just shrugged and went into the kitchen.

"Just call me Natalie," she said as she started pulling a tea set out of a cabinet.

"Oh, sorry, mum," Eames said, remembering introductions. "This is Yusuf. That's Arthur, and this is Ariadne. Sorry about the lack of notice. We found ourselves a little pressed for time."

For the first time, Natalie Eames got a clear line of sight on Ariadne, who was, as Eames had said, rather black and blue and heavily bandaged, and she stopped what she was doing and shifted her whole attention to the young woman standing timidly in her kitchen.

"My goodness, child," she said, her eyebrows knitting together in concern, as she looked over Ariadne "What on earth happened?"

Ariadne's eyes flickered to Eames.

"Well, it's kind of a long story," Eames said, speaking up on Ariadne's behalf.

"Then you are going to have a lot of explaining to do, my lad," she said firmly. "Sit down, dear. You look dead on your feet."

Arthur strode over to help her, and Ariadne allowed herself to be assisted into a chair at the kitchen table.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"We did on the plane," Yusuf volunteered.

"Well, that'll hardly do. Let's get a proper meal in you, and you three can tell me what's been going on while you, young lady, will go to bed and get some sleep, although, the rest of you look pretty worn out yourselves. It is unfortunate that the two spare bedrooms are being painted at the moment."

"What, now?" Eames said in surprise.

"Yes, Phillip, now. Ariadne can take your room, poor girl needs a proper bed," Natalie declared. This sympathetic statement was accompanied by an affectionate pat on the back for Ariadne. "I can put you boys up in the front room, but I'm afraid that it will be camping out with pillows and blankets until I can get the guest rooms sorted."

"We really appreciate the trouble," Arthur said politely.

Natalie seemed to really enjoy taking care of Ariadne, and for her part, Ariadne certainly didn't seem to mind being fussed over, granted she wouldn't have had the energy to protest if she had minded. By noon, Natalie Eames had gotten Ariadne fed and tucked into bed, and the girl was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

When Natalie Eames returned to her kitchen, she sat down at the table with the young men.

"Now, my lads, you will tell me exactly what's happened, or it will go hard for you."

Arthur was somewhat surprised to find that Eames had already told his mother something about working in extraction, and Eames had been right: anything but the truth would not have worked with his mother. All things considered, she took the story better than Arthur had hoped, especially considering the illegality of their activities, even if she had giving them some stern looks. He could tell that she had enjoyed the part of the story when Eames told her about the call that he had made to the FBI Agent from Augustus Shaw's bedroom. She tried to maintain her look of disapproval, but instead she broke into a fit of giggles.

* * *

Arthur spent much of the afternoon on the phone working on PR damage control, beginning with a call to Cobb. The conversation had ended with Cobb agreeing to get in touch with some of his contacts on their behalf. Arthur was surprised to hear him ask if he needed Cobb to fly out to help with anything. Arthur insisted that it wasn't necessary, but Cobb didn't sound as though he was certain of this. After that, he made a call to Saito. If there was anyone that would be a good source of positive PR, it would be a former employer whom had been pleased with their work.

* * *

When Ariadne woke up in the dark room, her first thought as she rolled onto her side was less of a thought and more of a groan that expressed the soreness of what seemed to be every muscle in her body. Gingerly, she turned to look at the clock on the night stand which declared the time to be two in the morning, and after an attempt to juggle three different time zones in her head, she gave up trying to figure out whether or not she was still short of sleep.

She slowly pulled herself out of bed, and, feeling like an old woman, gradually made her way to the corridor. After she stopped at the bathroom to wash the sleep out of her eyes and get a drink of water, she descended the stairs carefully, intending to rely entirely on her night vision to navigate the house. It turned out to be unnecessary for a small lamp on the table that stood next to the door to the front room gave off a dim light. Ariadne opened the door to the front room where the glow of red embers in the hearth cast a dim light over the room enough for her to clearly see the men sleeping on the floor. She first saw Yusuf and Eames, lying on pallets set out for them, putting her in mind of little boys at a sleep over, but she quickly noticed that Arthur was conspicuous by his absence. Ariadne noted Arthur's absence with something approaching alarm. She glanced around the hallway for a moment before noting the porch light shining through the windows in the front door. Ariadne looked out the window to see him sitting on the front stoop. After slipping on her shoes and grabbing her shawl off of the coat rack, as quietly as she could, she opened the front door and stepped out into the cold night.

He didn't look up when she approached and sat down next to him.

"Arthur, would you tell me what you're doing sitting out in the cold with no more than a t-shirt and a pair of jeans?" she asked with a gentle tease.

He didn't answer her, but instead ran his hand through his uncharacteristically unkempt hair and gave himself a bit of a shake. He had the air of searching for an answer, but coming up with a blank. Suddenly, she became aware of how exhausted he looked, and a horrible suspicion stole over her. She shifted around to kneel in front of him and placed her hands on either side of his face. His skin was cold with the exposure to the frigid air. He looked up at her with tired eyes.

"Arthur, tell me how long it has been since you slept. And I mean really slept."

His eyes slid away from meeting hers, and frustration crept into his expression. "Ari-," he started, but he didn't seem to know how to continue. It confirmed what she had feared.

"You haven't slept in days, Arthur, and instead of sleeping in a warm room; you are sitting outside in the freezing cold. Why?" The concern in her voice was unconcealed.

"You asked if I was afraid yesterday," he said conversationally, apparently ignoring her question.

Ariadne nodded, uncertain about where Arthur might be going with this.

"But you didn't ask what I was afraid of."

"No, I didn't," she agreed. Suddenly, Arthur's eyes fixed onto hers.

"I was afraid of what Pratt had done to you. I knew he had, but I had no idea how badly. I was terrified that I wouldn't reach you in time, that it would be too late to help you. Now, I'm afraid that if I close my eyes, you won't be there when I wake up, taken away to somewhere I can't get to you. The ironic thing is," he said, bitterness rising in his voice, "before, I was afraid of what might happen to you while you were in the dreams."

The emotional outburst was unexpected and startled her a bit, but she repressed any outward sign of surprise. Instead, Ariadne leant forward and rested her forehead on his, and felt the tension in his posture lessen with the contact. "Arthur, darling, come inside with me, please." She spoke the request softly, but the note of pleading was still audible. She felt the slight nod that he gave, and, taking his hand, she took him back into the house.

Once inside, never letting go of his hand, she led him into the warm room where Yusuf and Eames slept. Carefully circumventing the sleeping men, they walked over to the untouched pallet of cushions and blankets that had been laid out near the far wall. She sat on the soft cushions and with a gentle tug on his arm he dropped down next to her. Arthur lay down unresistingly, wrapped in her arms, and resting his head on her shoulder, he curled an arm around her waist.

"Now," she murmured softly, "anyone who tries to take me first has to literally pry me away from you, and I can assure you, they will have a time of it if they try. So, please Arthur, you must try and rest. You will feel so much better when you wake up, and, I promise you I will be right here when you do."

* * *

When Arthur woke up many hours later, sunlight was pouring in through the windows, and he could hear the fire crackling in the hearth. As the world came into focus, he became aware of Ariadne stretched out beside him. He watched her for a moment as she lay there completely engrossed in the book she was reading while she fiddled absently with her totem until a slight shift from him drew her attention. She smiled when she saw he was awake, and she put aside the book and bishop aside.

"Good morning," he said quietly. Her smile broadened.

"Good afternoon," she replied. "It's a quarter to one. Didn't I tell you that you needed some sleep?"

"You've been here the whole time?"

"Pretty much. Didn't I also promise to be here when you woke up? Do you feel better?"

"A bit."

"Only a bit?" she asked. When, after a moment, he had yet to reply, concern crept into her expression. "Arthur?"

She placed a hand on his arm suddenly making him aware of her close proximity laying there next to him which, for some reason, left him feeling completely discomposed. He felt himself unequal to meeting her gaze. While his brain scrambled for something to say to her, he found that his mouth had decided, of its own accord, to start talking.

"God, Ariadne, I was so terrified when I thought I could lose you, when I thought I had lost you. I've never been so scared in my in my entire life as I was when I woke up to find you gone from the hotel room and saw all the blood..." He trailed off, trying not to get caught in the memory. He felt her hand give his arm a squeeze.

"Arthur, look at me," she said in a soothing tone. "I'm fine, I really am."

He did look her in the eye then, a grim look on his face. Slowly he reached over, and, very gently, he touched the bruise that was blooming around her left eye.

"It will take more than a black eye and a handful of stitches to lead me to the afterlife," she said firmly, the significance of the gesture not lost on her.

"And I spent all that time worrying about you getting hurt while dreaming," he said ruefully, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear before drawing back his hand from her face.

Silence fell between then for a moment, and Ariadne's expression became pensive. Arthur grew concerned by her silence and was debating what to say when suddenly, and without warning, she leaned toward him and pressed her mouth to his.

The kiss astonished him so much it took his brain a moment to come to terms with current events, but only a moment. He slid his hand to the nape of her neck and pulled her deeper into the kiss. The reaction seemed to surprise her; he felt her start slightly before the relaxing and bringing her hand up to his face. The feather-light pressure of her fingertips brushing his cheek had the effect of a slap. Gently, but very firmly, he pulled away from her.

"Wait," he said, holding her back from him, which he found took a frustrating amount of self-control, especially after seeing the look on her face. He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the little red die. It looked right and felt right in his hand, but he dropped it onto the floor between them, just to be certain. Satisfied and, he had to admit, relieved, Arthur moved it out of the way and pulled Ariadne back toward him.

After a moment, it was Ariadne's turn to pull back from the kisses. "Wait," she said. "You thought this might be a dream?"

"When something seems too good to be true, I tend to check," he said, trying to draw her back toward him. "And you kissing me is definitely reason to check."

"Really?"

Arthur stopped trying to pull her back and spoke seriously. "Ariadne, I've loved you since I don't know when, and it took nearly losing you for me to admit it to myself. And now, here you are, in my arms, and, to tell you the truth, it all feels very surreal."

"I'm sorry, go back. Did you just say you loved me?"

"I did," he said somberly, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear.

"And you mean it?"

"Of course, I do!" he laughed. "What do you think I was kissing you for?"

To Arthur's great concern, tears began to spill from Ariadne's eyes, but before he could ask her what was wrong, he realized that she was also laughing. This time she was unresisting when he pulled her back into another kiss.

* * *

Phillip Eames was rather put out. The morning had started so promisingly when he had woken up to find Arthur sleeping with his arm wrapped around Ariadne right there on the floor of the front room. It was all he could do not to wake up Arthur in order to tease him right then and there, but he managed to restrain himself, especially after Ariadne awoke in time to explained to him in very harsh whispers what she would do to him if he woke Arthur up. The girl was surprisingly imaginative in her description of the torment that she would rain down upon anyone who dared disturb the sleeping Point Man. After that, he and Yusuf made quiet and hasty exits.

It was at this point that Eames and Yusuf found themselves being put to work on the two guest rooms by Natalie. When Eames complained about the unfairness of Arthur and Ariadne getting out of work, his own mother took Ariadne's side. She had spoken to Ariadne very briefly that morning when she had slipped into the front room to check on her and bring her a cup of tea, and there was winning after that.

If that young man needed more sleep, his mother had said, then, he was to be left alone. God only knew how he must have been worrying after that girl. It didn't take any great brains to see what was happening there. And Ariadne wasn't to do any work at all, poor darling, after all she'd been through.

Eames was, however, quite cheered when, after answering a knock on the front door, he found Dominic Cobb on the front step with his two kids in tow. His mother quickly took the children into the kitchen for some hot chocolate.

"You got here quick."

"Saito owns an airline, remember? I had him arrange something for me. I believe he was anxious to be helpful."

"Well, then, I assume you'd like to see Arthur, although I don't know if he's awake yet. Ariadne won't let anyone bother him." Eames opened the door to the front room very quietly, glanced in, and gave a discrete cough. Ariadne and Arthur broke apart with a start, and Ariadne blushed hard in embarrassment.

"Well, I guess he's awake," Eames said brightly.

"How long has that been going on?" Cobb asked curiously.

"Are you kidding? I was afraid they'd never get around to it. You just have no idea what I've had to put up with. I was sure they were going to spend the rest of their lives gazing longingly after each other with-"

"Oh, shut up, Eames!" Ariadne snapped irritably, getting to her feet. In much kinder tones, she said, "Hi, Cobb, it's good to see you again. You're looking well."

"I wish I could say the same for you," he said with a sympathetic smile. "I understand that you've been picking fights with men twice your size, and you seem to have come out the worse for it."

"Well, they did start it," she said defensively, raising a hand to cover her left eye from view.

"Arthur, you're doing all right, I see."

"I told you that you didn't have to come."

"We were going to visit Miles for Christmas anyway. We've just made the flight a little early. The kids are looking forward to seeing their grandfather."

"I am glad to see you, Cobb," he admitted.

At this point, they were joined by the Cobb children who were overjoyed to see Arthur, and Eames left to open the front door after another knock.

Ariadne's eyes widened as she saw the new-comer enter the room.

"Miles!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Grandpa!" Philipa shrieked, running over for a hug, closely followed by her younger brother.

"Dom called me," he said sternly, regarding Ariadne with a disapproving look that she had rarely seen directed to her. "Dom, would you take the children for a moment. I need to speak to Ariadne."

Cobb picked up the children and took them out of the room. Eames, sensing the sudden increase in tension, followed them out.

"Snitch," Ariadne muttered under her breath.

If Miles heard this, he ignored it. "Ariadne Gray, when exactly did you plan to tell me what happened?"

"Well, I didn't think it would hurt to at least wait until the stitches came out," she said weakly.

"Stitches?" Miles demanded.

Ariadne fingers went up to the bandage on her head.

"What other injuries are you not telling me about?" Miles asked darkly.

Ariadne indicated her side. "More stitches."

"Look, Miles, she was really worried about upsetting you," Arthur said, coming to her defense.

Miles turned on Arthur. "You would do well to stay out of this, seeing as you were the one to get her into this. You told me that you would watch out for her!"

"That's not fair, Miles!" Ariadne said, defending Arthur with more courage than she had defended herself. "I would have said that I got myself into this. There wasn't anyone twisting my arm, and, if anything, Arthur did his best to keep me out of it."

"Ariadne, how could you not tell me as soon as you could? This is not something that I want to hear about from someone else, especially not third hand. I had no idea how badly you were hurt until I got here!"

"I'm really sorry, Miles," Ariadne said remorsefully. "I didn't want you to worry about me, and I didn't want you to make me quit."

This seemed to mollify Miles to some degree. He signed in aggravation. "Ariadne, I know that you have spent a lot of time taking care of yourself, but you now have to deal with others that are concerned with your well-being. I would very much prefer for you to not have a 'next time' but if there is a future time when you are in trouble, I need to know as soon as possible if you are all right."  
"I promise."

"Thank you." There was a moment of silence.

"Would you like to hear how I escaped?" Ariadne asked hopefully. "I'm really rather proud of it."

* * *

Ariadne and Arthur were in Paris for Christmas, spending it with Miles and the Cobb family, although Eames dropped in on them the following day with gifts of his own for everyone. Ariadne rolled her eyes and laughed when she opened Eames's present to find a Sleeping Beauty DVD, but she rather enjoyed the shirt that he had also included in the package which declared the wearer to be a self-rescuing princess.

Ariadne knew that after the first of the year Eames and Arthur would be doing some traveling without her, PR meetings as Arthur put it. He had his work out convincing her not to come. It would make him feel better, he had said, to know that she was safe in Paris and not in some of the seedier places that they would be visiting. She had relented but only with the clear understanding that such concessions to protectiveness would be few and far between.

In the mean time, however, Ariadne was thoroughly enjoying her favorite time of year with some of the people that she loved best.


	15. Chapter 15

Oops! The story that you are looking for is no longer here!

It is now part of the new story: "Murder in Cerulean Blue", now up!

The author's note has been left in places for the sake of historical reference (mostly for the author).

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**PLEASE FORGIVE THE RIDICULOUSLY LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE. I DO FEEL THAT THERE ARE SOME THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW BEFORE YOU GET TO THE STORY.**

**Author's Note: My dear readers,**

**I find myself now in an interesting position of having so many ideas to convey to you in this note (read: long, heartfelt letter that took me two hours to write) that I have difficulty finding the proper place to begin, so you must forgive me if you find this a bit rambling and disjointed. I am also going to take the liberty of speaking to you in a tone of personal friendship that I've inexplicably come to feel for the complete strangers that have read my tales so far. I suppose I shall try communicating my thoughts chronologically, beginning with where I last left you, at the end of "Denial in E minor."**

**I loved writing this story, and while I have written fan fiction for many, MANY years, this was the first story with a complete enough plot to warrant posting. I was also honored to feel that it was enjoyed by many people all over the world, which gives me no end of joy and satisfaction. However, I am not entirely satisfied on two points. The first point came with my own reading of the story after it had been published, and I discovered several previously unnoticed typos through-out, the worst of which is an entirely missing paragraph in chapter 8, which makes part of the narrative seem a bit random. On a related note, I think the formatting of the story could be improved in such a way as to make the transitions easier to follow. I will admit that my first point can be remedied with a bit of editing work on my part that would be more tedious than difficult, and I have every intention of getting my rear end in gear and fixing that. However, my second point of dissatisfaction is a little more difficult to resolve. I must admit to you that I find myself increasingly displeased with the final chapter. I find that it feels rushed, in places it is sentimental to a degree that it is uncomfortably sappy and out of character, and it is all together not up to the quality of the rest of my work. Part of that I can attribute to the fact that it was written at Christmastime with the intention of publishing on Christmas day. It feels rushed, because I was rushing to finish it, and I hope that the sappiness was, at least in part, the result of the holiday spirit. (I'm pretty sure that I am unbearable for the month of December; I get choked up about everything: Christmas movies, Christmas hymns, Christmas tv-specials, people collecting for the Salvation Army… it ALL makes me kinda weepy.) Back to the point I was trying to make: I'm just not happy with it, but I'm unsure how to fix it. I'm not sure if some tweaking in the right places would fix it or if I just need to scrap the whole thing and rewrite it from the top, but something must be done. When I figure out what that is, I can add that to the other corrections that need to be made, and I can leave you with one clean and complete final version.**

**Now that we have thoroughly covered my first story, we can move on to my next one. You know how at the end of books you sometimes find a short sampling of the next book in the series? Well, that is what this update is supposed to be (once you get past this interminable letter). Why, you may ask, is the author doing this rather than just starting the new story? Well, I'll tell you. There are many reasons, all of which I will touch on, but the biggest one is this: I'm stuck. This isn't just "I'm up to this part of the story, but I don't know how to proceed from here" kind of stuck, but I'm genuinely having a hard time nailing down any kind of series of events. I have simply TONS of possibilities for this next story, but they're so broad that I'm having a hard time getting a basic storyline. I need a more solid framework to build a story around. One truly aggravating thing about this is that I have a significantly clearer idea for a third story, and even a fourth story, however, I am unable to just jump to those ideas without skipping some of the things that I know will be necessary for the over-all arc.**

**All this being said, I am, and have been for some time, feeling guilty about leaving you for seven months without a word of update or notice about what I've been up to, or what my plans are story-wise, or even if I still live. So, what you are seeing today is essentially the part of chapter one of the new story that I got down in January before everything came to a screeching halt. (Honesty compels me to admit that at that point, I was five months out from my wedding, and that sort of took over everything. On a side note, I am very happy to announce that, as of June 11****th****, I am now Mrs. Ballerina Terminator. So, now I am just surfacing from my first month of wedded bliss, and I am finally getting back to this.) What you are getting today is little better than a rough draft and it is not even a full chapter, and it is subject to change, depending on what the story will need; but, more importantly, it is also my sign to you that I'm still here, that I don't intend to say "I'd love to do another story" and then never be heard from again, that I have plans, however vague, to continue on with my chronicles of the adventures of our intrepid heroes, that I don't want to be absent so long that all interest is lost.**

**I'm sorry for the length of this preface to story which is nearly as long as the story itself. If you've made this far in this author's note, your commitment is to be commended; thank you for humoring me. I hope very much to be able to provide you with a great deal more story in the near future. If anyone feels so inclined to try to assist me with my literary difficulties (listen to some of my ideas, tell me what sounds good, tell me what stinks, give me an alternate point-of-view) send me a message to my fanfiction account. So, without further ado (and more information than you ever wanted to know), I give you your teaser for my second Inception installment.**

**All my best,**

**Ballerina Terminator**

**P.S. Anyone who wants to see a wedding pic, I've updated my avatar pic.**

**P.P.S. Also, Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan. The only payment I get is the joy that comes from reader feedback.**

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Oops! The story that you are looking for is no longer here!

It is now part of the new story: "Murder in Cerulean Blue", now up!

The author's note has been left in places for the sake of historical reference (mostly for the author).


End file.
